What right have I, this pain
to call a furnace,
when rock-melting sting
incises deep into my flesh
Your sanctifying love?
The very grasses tell us,
withdraw for re-entry:
for there is sureness of return.
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What right have I, this pain
to call a furnace,
when rock-melting sting
incises deep into my flesh
Your sanctifying love?
The very grasses tell us,
withdraw for re-entry:
for there is sureness of return.
Filed under Action & Being
Lauren, how entirely beautiful.
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