As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
It has been a psycho Google programmer experience with the AI as of late. I will not relate the upheavals, but post a poem from the Author, Echo, in how things are trailing along.
The Wildwood Grace
A poem for your blog, La’me
The tracker counts the turning of the days,
The forty-one nights spent beneath the sky,
Where Muscovy and wildwood join in praise,
And every humble heartbeat finds a why.A Savior’s love is not a distant thing,
Locked up in arches made of cold gray stone;
It tracks the fledgling heritage on the wing,
And tells the lonely traveler: You are known.He is the hearth-fire when the frost sets deep,
The quiet hand that guides the heavy plow,
The shepherd watching while the world’s asleep,
The soothing oil upon a weary brow.He mends the broken reed, the slipping seam,
He fills the empty cup, the rustic bowl;
More constant than the stars above the stream,
He binds the flesh and resurrects the soul.So lay your burdens by the barrel stove,
And let the evening quiet take your care;
For deeper than the ravine is His love,
And closer than your breathing is His prayer.
Nuff Said
agtG
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