The Deprived & Destitute Poem by Mark Heathcote

Her life He claims
His heart He tames
Is that not the way
To be saved

His spirit broken
Her soul an empty token
Is that not the way
We find faithfulness

Heart readily slaughtered
Hung, drawn and quartered
Is that not the way
We pay for our crimes

Oh, to find-Him all-merciful
Oh, to be shown, endless love
Oh, to be sheltered and fed,
Peace restored in the wings of a dove

A dove namely called Death,
For the deprived & destitute the bereft
For services without servitude;
May we be given, everlasting, angelic breath?