By His Grace


What is the heat of summer to me?

The cold of winter cannot freeze.

Winds will blow and threaten me.

Calm presides my royalty.

What sounds I’ve heard.

Nests of little birds.

Moss and bugs to me absurd.

I stand my ground unnerved.

At dawn I wave to light yet born.

Come color me, Eternal morn.

Wake with me, sleep to scorn.

And stand your ground with darkness torn!

By His Grace

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