|Photograph Copyright-James Rainsford|
Post written at Dverbs
The brim is never reached
The flashes of memories, like thunderstorms
attack, sermon and misguide me
weaken me, and yet I
gulp it down with a peg of vile.
The grief is at times, too intense
So much that you can hardly breathe
and yet take in, take in
and the kiln is never too hot
the pot never too full,
Ah! what a mighty heart Oh Lord!
Ah! a witty world this is!