Gratitude's Flow
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when moments are lid covered, like mourning shawl
my senses stoop ever weary as they begin to fall,
then I hear a chuckling of street kids spilling the day
as if hours are given by a Maker to strum and gaily play,
by then; I hold His LIGHT, a sliver of it begins to bloom
erasing crumbs of doubt in shades of twisted gloom.
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©
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Robert Ball's Honoring the Father Contest
by: nette onclaud
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2011
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