The Scattering
One's ill respite, ne'er distantly
the acclimation's Faith as sight
before the God of might stay free,
as justice arbitraries fight!
My land, my kin, my own insight
in peril, e`er the speaking's height.
I bow, this distance, kneeling's plight
in some small space, withdrawn, ne're flight!
Oh, God of mercy kindle quiet
that I may speak to Thy invite,
forgive that order's serving sight
a scattering ~ that invokes contrite!
Copyright © Paula Larson | Year Posted 2018
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