Now the wings of the bird of my spirit have healed.
I am free from the clutching snare of the lowlying thicket of thorn.
I take to the skies and soar to the heights of the cross where
I am able to flutter and land upon the splintered beams of the cross.
I make my nest in the crown of thorns.
I no longer have to viciously peck along the forest floor for the tiniest morsel.
I just open my beak skyward and Father drops a worm of nourishment
into my mouth and the seeds of the word of God.
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