Peace and Praise
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Phony people Like sticky Sweet syrup stuck On unsuspecting fingers. They’ve danced Into your life, too. Are they still there? And did you know? Left alone, Even their toenails Weep with loneliness.
Care is a warm, fuzzy blanket for your worn soul
A large group with inbreeding, but no deformity–and those babies?
I’m just a magpie who sings like a chickadee.
“It is well, it is well, with my soul. My saviour God calls out to me and it is well, it is well, it is well with my soul.”
Horatio G Spafford