And gets down on two knees,
With the cloth dripping warm to the floor.
Love holds not a grudge,
Nor insists on revenge--
On the betrayer's feet, water pours.
Love carries the burden--
Splintery, weighty--
Without its demanding, "Bless me."
Love lays the will down,
Arms stretched open wide,
While crimson flows rich--atoning.
Love blesses the cursed,
Says yes to the need,
Transforms a cold heart in despair.
Love keeps not a list
of those shouting out scorn.
It forgives. It endures. It repairs.
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