May my humble gifts be magnified by your Divine Love
For my gifts can appear only humble to the most divine Giver Who possess all things
Look down now to think of me as your lowest of all your creatures
whom you once created, now mold, nourish his soul for your own divine pleasure
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I don't like cyberspace poetry anymore For it is more like good-grief than good-grace Now I scream whenever I see a poem Except my own Enough poem for one day you kill me slowly by hour by day if that is retaliation, you are doing very good job My spirit is dying along with my lone poet! No more reading until tonight But my beloved wife has threatened, either poetry or her You know my answer. No brainer Now go write about yourselves Not about me