by Paula Larson |
This deafening atrophy, sameness quest
though summiting by sound, I so ingest
my frailness, owning not His field of blest!
This dropping back, or down, would this suggest
I tender the renown, and not regress
that in my heart, a frown is even test!
How do I speak to thee, in guilt's suggest
for it be all around, moral's incest ~
and to lose Holy ground, would seem as lest!
I love thee so ~ ne'er knowing, only guess
that thee are still unbound, and my love guest,
nor own the fate's impound . . . . . . . eternal rest!