Deep green, the laurels of thy being queen|
Surrounded by sweet incense from the scent—
Of long lost manuscript that can't be seen
By given sight, in plight is where I spent
Thro’ my devotion unto thee, must gain—
Such trust! To reconcile to what we've sworn.
Afore the eyes of God, we must obtain—
Those precious rings; shall then again reborn.
And if my great election guides me through
The things I’d pray'd beneath the heaven's gate!
Shall tolerate myself to what is true?
O fill'd my soul with faith to thee I’ll wait.
Forgotten may it seems, but it won’t die—
Thro' certainty there’s virtue to rely.
© 2019 amberdusk
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