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May 2020
Little one,
My precious one,
What now have you gone and wrought?
What is the fruit of the toils,
Of all the trouble you've sought?

Little one,
My dearest one,
You've gone and ran so far,
Won't you stop running and come here?
Come rest here in my arms.
What I imagine God says when I act proud and petulant.
Hallie Richardson
Written by
Hallie Richardson  19/F/Texas
(19/F/Texas)   
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