Broken? Can this heart of mine
Be more broken, sorrow find
A place more lowly than my soul?
Why be broken? Why not whole?

"Child, listen, broken things
Don’t need mending constantly.
Being broken and contrite
Means submission, broken right."

As the wild stallion starts,
Submits to bridle, then departs
As rider wills. So I will be,
Father, broken, willingly.

Anna M. Molgard

© Faithsong Publications, L.L.C.
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