Friday, April 11, 2008

Daily Grind

Only a rod a day now I consume.

Total evasion for the morrow I presume.

To clean up the temple of all refuse.

A worthier vessel for Him to use.

Only by His grace triumph bestowed.

Over rigged arrows that pierce the soul.

And in the end while poison drips from wound.

So shall I be caught up over the moon.

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