To pattern my wishes with ink in a poem
Spills nothing but fantasy
But to fold my pleas in whispers to Him
Returns sweet peace to me
To clutch the whims of my best intentions
Is to hope in foolish chance
To cling to His promises drives away demons
As I accept what He grants
To suffer life’s trial with knowledge, base; human
Will leave the soul to bleed
To trust our weakness to His grace sufficient
Will satisfy every need
© Janet Martin
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