is it?
If things on earth
May be to heaven resembled,
It must be love,
Pure, constant, undissembled.
just another sojourner... these feet are not my own, these hands are merely just on loan, they were made to be used and make love known, a fruit of a seed once long ago sown... and though the sojourner carries on as the wind is blown, she knows that she's never ever ever alone.
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