Iona, the beautiful.
You have borne me abirthing
to your throbbing shores.
Iona, the powerful.
Pulled by your white arms,
timely cast on your outstretched sand,
I rise newborn at the feet of your grand
old crosses.
How firm they stand against the tides of taunting doubt,
the long, long history of my frailty.
Iona, the wise.
Trusting my strength,
you drive me to your Highest peak.
pushing me purposefully over the bleak
outcropping
of your rock based soul
that I might know the hard turth.
Now setting me softly onto the green
below.
tenderly tumbling, blowing me free,
a pink balloon aplay
among your scattered balls of wooly
sheep.
Your everlasting winds are lifting me laughing,
showing how deep is the love that is loving me.
Iona, my shepherd.
You have gathered me in like a wave, to break upon my inner shores
flooding me with clarities, durable as diamonds.
