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Friday, July 8, 2011

Mothered by our Father....

You have inflicted your own toll.
Woe, woe, woe.
Slid down the pole into a hole.
You are not the first to roll.
This is My goal.
To lay you on a grassy knoll.
All covered in coal.
Like a mare bathes her foal.
I will bathe you from My bowl.
My loved one, I have your soul.

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