Nation
The earth, some surface its explore
like peeling, I am falling forward
unto your love, I fall like gravel
to the ocean floor.
Your love is all I'm aiming for
so cleave me with your love, a store
as God would fit forever in our moor
that promise that creation had no score ~
Before our bonding's grace from God's implore,
your Nation in your arms is to reform
that rising tempests settle at my door
and peace returns to estimate no poor ~
recycling of last fate . . . forever forward!
Copyright © Paula Larson | Year Posted 2007
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