Sometimes, words of prayer glow
They are molten gold, they warm The soul, we feel their source, A vast vortex where lives form, And these words flow, they Fill the cracks in the world, We see the bead of every word Knurled with meaning, how life has swirled Throughout the vacuums and the Traceries of space, we see The vastness of the treasury Of spirit, the leonine solemnity, The vale of their fecundity, And the fear of God fills The atmosphere, the bird, The branch, the stream and the deer.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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