why, o lord, are you so tender, so gentle?
why is your love, though i wish it to be like a father of old,
why is it softer than a mother's breast,
lighter than sweetest air,
more caring and more wise than the best of benevolent cunning men?
why o lord do you not chastise me? for this i could understand.
but thy mercies, thy mercies are water on parched lips.
thy locks like silk and honey.
thy body safe, strong, a mountain.
such a companion one could never in a 1000 years have found.
yet you have found me. i worship your footprints.
and yet you pick me up, wipe my face and say only, 'follow, sweet one!'
