Where is she?
We are walking down the road
Some with vigor
Some halt and lame
Some forging on like mighty men
Some pausing to browse on flowers
Whom does she serve?
Upon leaving, I heard them say, We couldn’t communicate.
I just couldn’t be myself.
But when I prayed, he answered.
Where I was at odds, he reconciled.
What then?
Shall the mighty elbow the old aside?
Or is it right to snuff out enthusiasm burning in a new light?
First he gave himself.
Then he gave us.
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