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christian poetry

rocked in the cradle of the deep
i fill this cup
i am a woman
and breaketh bread no more
i do not pray for peace
with joy and wonder
when i was broke in london
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
there was a time in former years
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
blossoms of babies

 



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