Guardian Angel
In this confined box,
I sit with my head as low as my neck can carry it.
Bless this ragged soul!
Bless this futile spirit!
But one comes with light
And gently touches, lifts,
Restores my unworthy being.
This light is through me as I'm led back to the garden of myself.
Copyright © Candace Lovelace-Leveille | Year Posted 2005
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