He says, "and come with me in

To a quiet place. Rest your soul

And feed on honeyed sweets.

I will not sneer at your triumphs

Or gloat over your defeats,

Neither condemn you, close to my heart.

My love is not based on your success.

I wore your flesh and know it aches;

I long to ease your wretchedness.

Don't be afraid to tell me all.

Trust me with your doubts and cares

And hidden things that devour you:

Well I know the tempter's snares.

I will gentle you with my hand.

I wore your flesh, I understand."

- Karleen E. Wickham Page ©1986