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Your Hand

Do not rush to take away, that - Which sooths the fevered brow, For I should be forever lact; And stunted be this love that grow. Recall of when the seed first spun That, which unseen hand did sow; When lost and weak, and parlour dun; ‘T’was natures golden gift; so know - For countless moons and equal suns Through Summers warm and Winters blow, For countless years, ere all eons My love shall blossom; ever to grow. Forever may the beauty stay, In hand you gave on wedding day.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things