third sunday of advent.

And the king quietly stole into the city
To seek a woman, lovelier than lovely,
His beloved, his betrothed, his queen.

But he found her on the streets,
Threadbare, homeless, covered in dirt
And tears, garments rent, eyes filled with shame
And fear and doubt when he came to her and
Took her hand–

“Beloved? It’s me. I came back for you.”

She turned away from him and cried,
“You don’t know, you don’t know all the
Things I’ve done while you were gone,
I thought that you weren’t coming back,
And I gave myself to others…”

He didn’t say a word, but folded her in his
Arms a long while, then turned to his friend
And aide and said, “Friend, you’ve heard all
That’s been said. So go and get from the treasury
The finest crown, the best of robes,
The most precious of jewels…for I came
For my beloved, to give her glory and beauty
In place of her shame; my battle scars were
Won to make her mine.”

And he looked at her and said,
“I know everything. And yet–and yet, my love,
I’ll still take you in, if you’ll but pledge your trust.”

And his friend went forth crying out through the city,
“The king has taken for himself a wife–
Come join the wedding feast a while.”

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