Your gentle pum-pum-pum
Now whispers tenderly,
Telling me what You want to be to me.
Rhema, in clear relief,
Full color, does beseech,
Not black and white, but with my name inside:
“Meet Me in the Word, child,
It’s how I’ll make you smile,
Amidst the crushing pressures,
And for the endless trials,
I’ve therapy to target
The ailments that beset
Your hurting soul; dear one, I know,
Which medicine cures woe.”

“Rain, dew, abundant showers,
Snow, cleansing, with the power
To remedy the ache of secret grief.
Hammer and burning fire,
Smash Satan, he’s a liar,
Break strongholds,
Melt your icy heart, most cold.
Meet Me in the Word, child,
And linger for a while;
Sweet honey for the bitter
Environments that defile
Your standing as my treasure;
My word will purify:
Dividing soul from spirit, so
That by the word you’ll grow.”