He is mine. I shall not want. I am His.
On cushion of grass soft rest I my head
Near a brook all still with sleep, as am led
Refreshed to splash my soul to cool in bliss.
For His name my path He clears- this sin this
Song through the death I dally for the dead.
I flaunt no fear. He is mine. Death is fled.
Here my comfort is, from water to ****.
He prepared my nose before me perfect
To propose what ranked surrounders rue
With bitter lips- my further reign as king.
And eyes contact these features to inspect
Which aspects not to dote- but dare to skew-
My composure and place everlasting.