Sonnet of the Wounded Lovers
Those jars of clay I bear upon my back
were shaped to hold the gift of love divine
that pours down free on ev'ry heart that lacks
changing waters of human love to wine.
But I raised not these jars of mine too much,
and safe I hid where none their cracks might see.
Those jars, so dry, did yearn for love's soft touch
yet many wounds cried out: Remember me?
Thus lone I walked until one strange met me.
He filled his jars though cracked they were like mine.
Protest did I: Why do you not foresee?
For as you move your jars will leak a line!
And so they did each day rain down below,
but where he walked the flowers loved to grow.
- By John Rieping
were shaped to hold the gift of love divine
that pours down free on ev'ry heart that lacks
changing waters of human love to wine.
But I raised not these jars of mine too much,
and safe I hid where none their cracks might see.
Those jars, so dry, did yearn for love's soft touch
yet many wounds cried out: Remember me?
Thus lone I walked until one strange met me.
He filled his jars though cracked they were like mine.
Protest did I: Why do you not foresee?
For as you move your jars will leak a line!
And so they did each day rain down below,
but where he walked the flowers loved to grow.
- By John Rieping
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