Paula Larson Poet Rhyme

Combing

I comb thy noblesse, in that some lost hurt
might bring thee sorrow, choosing some avert -
a random's borrow to then so divert,
God's asking of our faith, to so invert
our courage, from His marrow of exert.

I comb the gray to know my own alert,
in functioning abuse from its framework.
Would guide me forward then to not berserk
my soundness, in thy Holy needs' concert.

I comb exactness, from its true cost's blurt,
an over action  of confining skirt,
that harbors definition by insert.

I comb resourcefulness from feelings curt,
to truth's contraction, without haste's overt.
That Godly sanctioned glory not desert,
of calling's minded motion, nor revert -

I comb my love for thee, that tangled worth,
that faith and understanding give new birth!

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