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Aug 2019
Clothed, I, in robes,
Sanctified by charcoal deities;
Widowed of this world,
And as yet unborn;
Mourn the galloping pulse,
Of the passing night divine.
β€˜Learning to weep, learning to keep vigil, learning to wait for the dawn. Perhaps this is what it means to be human.β€˜
- Henri Nouwen

β€˜The robe of flesh wears thin.’
- John Buchan
Written by
annh  F/Christchurch, New Zealand
(F/Christchurch, New Zealand)   
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