My Sheep Hear My Voice

maple buds

That precious part within,
Held in a small, dark place
encompassing the infinite,
The birthing place of
all we may attain
Will hear, unerringly,
when it is called by name

It will rise up, surprised
to find itself, eager
to live what it is called to,
endlessly relieved,
intensely grateful
to have been called —

To thus be sure
of its existence
and that the promises
given it before the world was born
will be fulfilled.

©Wendy Mulhern
March 8, 2015

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