Sacrements
Be this hallowed hour
Let the flame stand still,
Come forward unto my palm,
Sway only like a flick--of my wrists
Small tiny little proofs, that my blood was talking
Now hushed cornfield at night,
Waiting for the wind, I'll be at a tear, waiting for a blink,
See with all tendencies of mercy
Forgiveth me Father, I am a child;humbled by my weight
Naive to my unseen ways.
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