The BottlePsalm 56:8 I stand before the throne. The tears run down my face. The occupant of the throne knows well The stains upon my face. He doesn’t speak a word. And I’m afraid to look. I’m ashamed to stand before him. Afraid for all I’ve done. Silently He reaches out to me And pulls me to His side. There’s a smile upon His face And tears within His eyes. Quietly He reaches out And takes a bottle from nearby I see it is not empty, And I pause to wonder why. He holds the bottle to my face And catches every tear. As He gently pulls me close And whispers in my ear. “Your tears are most dear to me. I’ve saved them, every one. For I sent my Son to die for you. You’re my own. My precious one.” _____ _________David E. Cloud____(12/5/14) unpublished work David Cloud 2014 used by permission
Side story. When this was read on Christmas morning (I have put all my poems in a book and each Christmas give the new poems as updated pages [Gracey, have yours from last year and this year and will send them shortly] and when they get opened up we read them) my sister told me that I had written it for her. It was the first Christmas that my niece, her daughter, wasn't there (she was at her in-laws that year).