Weather worn
tattered
torn
flacid and weak
without sense of being
nor comprehension of reason
for the progression of seasons
Why
do I
still turn
a weather eye
towards the horizon
seeking
still kneeling
believing
in what God
had promised at conception,
immaculate reflection
of heaven on earth
through humble
genuflection
Will I still have the strength
to finish life's gambit
to follow through
with what I'm charged to do
and come to see God
as I knew him
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