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for every fall
a picking up –
a matter of perspective
someone crushed
an apple tree to seed
long I stood
just looking up
hanging then to heaven
o’er I would want
whatever fell to need

would prayers be heard
I know that now
no matter why the sinner
would fall to knees
with plead for lowly grace
chained the past
was one more grief
of burden to deliver
would nightbirds come –
to leave without a trace

to sigh aloud
the first amen –
is whispered without memory
of why the choice
or where our purpose came
now to lay (me down)
just so –
years from where I started
sorrow just as heavy
wears a different

. . .