Humility

Listening to the psalm’s echo
Hollow, upon an eve so bright
Speaks louder than the silent night.
No seraph’s touch, no charcoal hope
Beloved Bethly one way street
A crib of hay, where Love doth sleep
And mortal men in Love doth weep.

No seraph’s touch, no charcoal hope
No burning lips, no touching hems.
Beloved Bethly one way street
A Holy lonely Eve again.

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About mags

Beloved apostle of His Soul x
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