
were ever I
the last to bow
the last to lift my face
let not your truth
be lost
or love disgraced
for a future
built on sorrows
– this cross
a resting place
for all we’ve yet
to garner
of your grace
. . .
24 Wednesday Jun 2020
Posted in Poetry, spirituality
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
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