In a Quakers garden

I sit and relax dwelling away from the ward

Smoke through my fingers channels no reward

For the softening of my mind

From the antidotes of man

To the ring in my ears

Of solitude’s command.

I live for the words of you my Lord

And wonder at selfless appeasement of You

Can I be a small part of the world

When noone knows the start of the Ford-

Ing across the river of life

That I travel, hoping for time

To make due my score and miss

The unfolding of the love for my

Ton of lucid poses for you to tempt

To my fate.

BCDFM

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2020

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