Midst gifts of life, like poison in nectar, pains flow in too,
Endlessly, as though, they pester us with unceasing woe;
Schedules suffer; Works slacken; spirit and body slow down,
Existence turns, like, eternal psycho-physic breakdown...!
Saint Paul had a wound of such sort and he prayed to the Lord,
He felt, yet, in everything, the will of...
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