Sophia- The Poiema

Oh Sophia, thou art work!
An operation of thine caresses knit me.
The breath of Her lips;
makes me. Forms me
The work of Her hands.
Like Spurgeon,
“a painter with a palette;
it’s neither the brush nor the paint,
but the skill of thine hand.”
Your hew! Your Polish,
Like Hillsong,
you mold me. Capture me,
“Craft me into your perfect plan”
like Paul,
make me a vessel unto honour
like a butterfly,
fashion me into a wonder.
You curve me unto thine MASTERPIECE.


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