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by Ward Stothers

The boat that sailed, had sought the port
Only to find
The gale fighting the shoreline.

Her head tilts, unsure of her sails
Staring at the bottom of the boat,
Waiting for the waves to flatten in serenity.
Briny knees in spilling teacup.

Tossed asleep, awake by God
Before the eye blinks.
Life, beckoning across the brine
Rest is her shore
Quiet the seas
Margarette her fame.

So quietly caring
Tending the sheep to her table
Everything to everyone
Living the goodness of her God.

Her head has lifted
Her eyes know the hallow of his governing arms,
He knows the hollow of her cradled frame,
The grace of an embracing Lord
Who greets, heals, and joys with—


"pung" a call of victory in a chinese board game


Copyright ©2004 Ward Stothers