Where cracks run deep and edges fray, Where broken dreams are tossed away, There rises soft a sacred sound— An abundance of beauty found.
Not in polished, gleaming gold, But in the stories scars have told, Grace arrives on whispered wings, To tend the soul and mend all things.
It doesn’t shun the bruised and worn, Nor mock the heart that’s battle-torn. It kneels beside the pain we hide, And holds us close with healing pride.
For every flaw, a ligght breaks through, A tender hue in every hue. Where others see what’s lost or wrong, God weaves a melody, a song.
So let the blemish boldly be— A testament to mercy free. Where there is imperfection’s cry, There beauty rides—sirens in sky.
