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Wednesday, August 8, 2012

SEVEN GOING ON EIGHT

I opened the gate and there she stood.
'You've won first prize, I told you, you would'.
Her small outstretched hand held a tiny cross,
as it fell into my palm, I sensed an immediate loss,
and then a gain, of something that was never mine,
a sense of sin, of some mighty crime.
As the sun set that evening over our small garden,
For the first time, I felt, in need, of God's pardon.

Tushie   8/8/12

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