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Follow His Light

I think,
I see,
A million whitecaps,
Making waves,
And they're taking no naps.
Fresh and speaking,
So native,
I have freedom to create,
Oh, creative.
And immense.
Blowing strong,
Oh, intense.
God's hands,
Ever more than slight,
Follow His light.
A mortal!
Here, a man,
This I ask,
Because I can.
Flawed mortal,
That, you are.
Mortal flawed,
That, you are.

©1999-2019 Steve Bujanow

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Copyright©1999-2019 Steve Bujanow, Neocortex. All Rights Reserved.

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