Healing-Hurts

It is as on the sand I write for you a poem But the sea comes in again to steal it Like a child I stand and wonder why this is That hope lives only to be washed away

Friday, December 01, 2006

Prayer

As wine that is . . . . poured out

On the parched desert . . . floor

By faith . . always it is with care

That nothing is ever . . . wasted


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