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Grace of Praise

Hues change as the sun draws across the sky:
Red blends in blue, warmth fading into
A cool, darkened visage. Dusk sweeps
Across the lands— stillness settles on the horizon.
Calm, at peace, he kneels down to pray:
“Thanks to the green, fertile grass that feeds
My calf, thanks to the mother hen who
Lays eggs for my wife, thanks to all who help
Me in life. Cool Serenity falls upon me:
A soft pitter patter of rain hits the tin roof,
A shield from my worries. The fire brings
Warmth, expels the darkness from the
Cabin.” He sits staring into the flame, his
Reflections adding wood to the fire. Dusk comes
But his flame of thanksgiving never extinguishes.



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