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COME ON SEND YOUR POEMS IN – AND ONCE YOUR POEM ARRIVES HERE – YOU ARE PROMOTING YOURSELF! TO THE WORLD

3303523929-2 You may already have a poetry platform,but the more you promote your poetry the more you are seen in the public eye. We have over 20  countries now following this site each day. This is your chance to shine, whilst  the world is watching and waiting for you to promote yourself. Now is the time to send your poetry to:poetreecreations@yahoo.com

Join all the other outstanding poets here!

As a child, – Promote Yourself

man

As a child, 
I never gave much thought or credence, 
about growing into manhood. 
And one day to my surprise, 
I found I was a man. 

As a man, 
I never gave much consideration or deliberation, 
about growing old; 
Moreover, I busied myself with everyday things, 
and allowed time to slip by unnoticed.
Then one day I stopped to look about, 
I was shocked to discover I was an old man. 

As an old man, 
I never gave much thought or attention, 
about death,
moreover, I busied myself with selfish things, 
again, I allowed time to slip foolishly by,  
and to my disbelief I found I was dying.

As I lay dying, 
I find all my thoughts and concentration, 
probing my memory 
now, I busy myself searching for the memories, 
of family and friends from by gone days, 
I did not miss until it was too late.

 

 

About Me: I am a 63-year-old retired engineer-building contractor who quite recently discovered writing, poetry, and prose. I have no formal training in any discipline where writing was anything more than writing reports or contracts. 
One day while reading a novella, I made the remark, I could write a novella like the one I was reading, and the gauntlet was thrown down. I bought a high school English Grammar book and a college English Grammar book and studied them both from cover to cover. 
I will admit to this day, I write passive sentences, I do occasionally split the infinitive, and least we not forget I might butcher the mechanics, of the English language. However, Word does a wonderful job pointing out those major flaws in my sentences and paragraphs, then gleefully points out those mistakes, and demands they’re fixed immediately. I hate those little red, blue, and green underlines that appear out of no-where when I type.
I wrote in my journals, and I wrote prose and other works for ten years before I posted the first poem on the blog. I wrote of and about everything from inspirational prose to a 400-plus-page World War II novel. And numerous short stories and essays. I even wrote a porn story of 75000 words, and I think, I will let it languish in the hallowed cylinders of my hard drive until I can find an out of the way place to post it. 
Out of all my pieces I have penned, I have had two published one in a book of prose and the other in the Harleys Owners Group (HOG Magazine) Volume 21 on the exhaust page.

Please visit Short Stories and other Writings at http://frgoulding.com. I hope you will enjoy reading them. 
Thank you, Frank Goulding.

The Darkest Day – Promote Yourself

corpse
The one on whom we pinned our hopes is now forever gone;
His broken, twisted corpse has shown all witnesses Rome won!
His promises of life and mercy clearly all a fraud,
Hide and lock yourselves away before you face a viscous sword!
What was he thinking? When they came he told us not to fight,
He surrendered with such calm, as if he controlled that night.
We could have made a break for it and seen another day,
With all the wonders that he worked, there had to be another way…
When he merely said his name, they all fell to the ground,
Wasn’t he supposed to clear the temple then be crowned?
Clearly not, no king would choose to die the way he did,
When morning comes it will be time that we all fled and hid.
Deny you ever knew him our you’ll share his shameful fate,
Our home towns might just take us back, if it’s not too late.
Our women want to see the tomb, embalm his body right,
There they go, despite the gloom of dawn’s approaching light…
http://benzwycky.com/2014/04/19/the-darkest-day/
Walking
Taking my baby for a walk.
Enjoying the shadows that play across his sweet little face
As we move in and out of the trees.
A gentle breeze rustling the leaves, distant birdsong,
The calm clatter of pram wheels along the cobbled path.
Watching the curious look in his innocent eyes
As he takes in the scenery passing by.
Is there any moment more peaceful, more wonderful,
A greater advert for life?
The only way to make this memory any better
Is to share it with you.
http://benzwycky.com/2013/03/30/walking/
Seasons
Forested deep purity
Dusted with a winter’s glow;
Crystalline perpetuity
Takes its place in nature’s show.
Fresh sunlight plays with diamonds soft
That glisten as they sing
In silent awe that drifts aloft
A peaceful offering.
Great ice sheets yield to spring’s sweet kiss
And snow gives way to rain;
Arboreal chants blend fragrant mists
That flood the fertile plain.
New fauna dance with life unbound
And quiver as they sleep,
Loathe to miss one sight or sound
Or lose one joy so deep.
Streams trickle, tumbling, giggling down
And nourish all they meet;
Young bucks do battle with their crowns
Their heroes to unseat.
Fierce summer heat strips arid earth
Of all that’s failed to thrive;
Refreshing flows gain countless worth
For all to stay alive.
Massed Shady greens turn mighty light
Into life’s currency;
Frantic deals done day and night
In this dependency.
Old summer takes his bow in style
With whirls of amber shades.
Harvests picked and safely piled
As daily brightness fades.
Most heed the warnings in the sky
Of winter’s coming wrath:
In insulated sanctuary lie
Or take a southward path.
And so the cycle runs again
It’s glorious phases through;
Enjoy their transient beauty, then,
And savour them anew.
http://benzwycky.com/2013/04/06/seasons/
Space
Warm sun on your back,
Cool breeze in your hair.
Here is space to relax
Or reflect, if you dare.
Space to breathe,
Space to think.
Space to revel in the wonder of reality:
The grandeur of a hilltop,
The beauty of a tree.
The charms of lilting birdsong,
And life’s stunning mystery.
The carefree laughs of children,
Friendly dogs at play.
Sights and sounds that lift your mood,
And turn around your day.
The gently rippling field of grass,
Fresh air after the rain.
Cascading smells and textures that
Make this world far from plain.
The mighty soaring orchestra
That sweeps your off your feet
And takes your heart to places new
As two worlds seem to meet.
Gentle words of solace,
A comforting embrace.
All this and more to ponder
In this quiet, peaceful space.
I’m an English ex-pat living in the Czech Republic with my Czech wife, four sons and daughter. I have a degree in Chemical engineering, but I work as a freelance proof-reader and occasional translator, mostly for various local scientific research institutions and Church organisations, but we used to do more translating for a post-production studio (for example, we translated every episode of ‘Duck Tales’ into Czech for dubbing). I have a self-published novel out, but zero success getting any of my poetry published (I entered a couple of contests, won one but never got the prize, entered a pay to enter one and never heard back from them, so I’ve given up on contests). My next project will be based on the ‘Joy of…’ series on my blog, interspersing the steps in the philosophical journey with poems appropriate to the given subject.

The Science of Surrender – Promote Yourself

 
science

You exist now but in memories

that permeate my skin

and crawl their way into my mind

in an instant devouring

the last semblance of

a vain façade of animosity

of which I’ve never been convinced.

 

With each atom of my being

magnetized by your allure

you manipulate my limbs;

bending knees to your devotion

you are a master puppeteer

whose once soft whispers have become

a paralysing  howl.

 

Armed with defences  paper-thin

I am a failure at deception

demolishing feeble barricades

you seep into my porous walls

illuminating through a guise

of rough exterior grown transparent

the fragile creature at my core.

Wounded in an open field

I lie in wait to be consumed.

Written By: Katie Flach, Campbell, CA

About Me: I am a 27-year old graduate student pursuing my masters in Clinical Psychology, with the hope of ultimately becoming a licensed psychotherapist. Writing has always been an incredible outlet for me, not only as a means of self-expression but also as a vehicle to create something of beauty out of the ugliness generated by painful emotions and difficult life experiences. Aside from writing, I have a huge appreciation for art, all things reptilian, cosplay and body modification (tattoos and piercings). In my free time, I enjoy reading, shooting my bow, nerding out to video games, hanging out with my crested gecko and ball python, watching sci-fi/action films and keeping myself in shape through hiking, jogging and strength-training. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work!

Check Me Out on WordPress: http://apraxiaofspeech.wordpress.com/

Stop Talking to Dead People – Promote Yourself

kite 
Let go of the kite
Its bows are torn
And it reeks of the ditch where
It sat for many days.
We’ll make you a new one-
Failing that,
You’ll grow up
As tall as the weeds that
Envelope the plants
In a deafening embrace.
 
You will forget.
 
Take this inside,
Your hands are soiled
And the bitter taste that
We know all too well
Is on our tongues,
Hiding in the bristles
Like a frightened child.
Wash the dishes,
Unfold the crease in the middle of your heart
And stop talking to dead people-
They are gone.
 
Like your bracelet at the bottom of the pool,
Gone.
 
You will forget.
 
The Mentor
We ourselves have been a dying breed
That planted nothing; that sowed no seed
And slowed the earth without a hint of qualms
Recovered softly, and gave no alms
 
Our hearts obese and left in disarray
We owned no lamps to help us find our way
The ringing choir that waiting wolves concoct
We heard no sound, our ears were locked
 
This bitter darkness we had come to know
Its aching charade; its ebb and flow
Its razor sting that rides the night’s appeal
Through glacial fear- to kill and steal
 
Now softly tread the wounded beast’s manure
Make slow the thirsty race on Bodmin moor
Evade the piercing crystal light’s allure
I tell you we’ve been in your place befor
e
 
 
The load that bent our backs was ours to carry
Our pleas in hastened rush like the canary
Our feet were blistered, broken, bleeding pus
And you are lucky to learn from us.

My name is J. V. We and I live in London, England. I’m sending in two poems for Promote Yourself. I write because I love the idea of capturing moments, memories and dreams with words (my way of making of the moment something permanent). The link to my blog is http://standstillhere.wordpress.com/ 
Ufuoma Brume

Word Weaving – Promote Yourself

weave

A weaver of words in and out through the woods,

up on a mountain where the sky is so blue.

I sit here and think of something new.

To contemplate those elusive words that my mind does see,

wanting to write what it is to be,

so you visualize what I am trying to show.

If successful, you will definitely know.

The trick is to say it just right,

in addition, keep it together nice and tight.

No wandering off into ramble land,

need to keep it here if I can.

Sometimes the mind leads the way,

and the hands type more than I need to say.

I try to stop the thoughts before they go,

choosing the ones that keep the flow.

If I am lucky and it all works out,

You will understand the thoughts I am talking about.

 By Linda Garcia

writingwildly@wordpress.ocm

The Dawn – Promote Yourself

stonexxxxxxxxxxxx

This saddest chore we will fulfil,
We women weak and weary still
From all these awful days have wrought,
We will embalm him as we ought.

But who will roll the stone away, and what about the guard?
So many things combined to make this day so very hard.
There’s the rich man’s garden, but what happened to the tomb?
My friends nervously approach and peer into the gloom.

An unknown voice calls, “He’s not here!” We scatter, terrified.
A minute later I return and take a look inside.
They’ve taken him! But where and why? What do they hope to gain?
Can’t they just allow us to endure our private pain?

“Please, sir, Mr Gardener, I do not mean to lurk,
Just tell me where you’ve taken Him, I’ll leave you to your work.”
“Mary,” says a voice I know, I look up in surprise,
And wipe the blurring tears from my disbelieving eyes.

It’s Him! He is alive and His body glorified!
“Teacher!” I said, so overjoyed to be there by his side.
“Do not cling to me,” He said, “I must still yet ascend
To my Father up in heaven, I am faithful to the end.”

“Go to all my brothers and tell them this from me:
I’m going to the glory that is mine eternally.”
That dawn began a whole new age, His rule began that day;
We’ll follow our beloved king, the Truth, the Life, the Way!

http://benzwycky.com/2014/04/20/the-dawn/

If—By Rudyard Kipling (‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies) – YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

if
If you can keep your head when all about you   
   Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 
    But make allowance for their doubting too;   
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, 
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, 
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise: 

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 
    And treat those two impostors just the same;   
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken 
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, 
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools: 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings 
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings 
    And never breathe a word about your loss; 
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, 
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, 
    If all men count with you, but none too much; 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute 
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU
WHAT’S YOURS

Sun Streaked Sky on Easter Morning



EASTER SUN

~

We watched the sunrise on Easter morning.

Crystal clear, God cast hands across the sky,

lifted clouds; memory of shadowing

ills,  sweet brilliance to enhance our why …

When last night our energy seemed quite low

we soon might now in the passing of hours

resolve eternal the fears we all know.

Distant the annals of shame do tower

that streak nearby the coloring high winds.

Our lives today might renew forever

if God in sheer beauty and grace rescinds

the troubled child whose antics in fever

recall our sorrows and human failure

while the morning sunlight cries our future

~

© Thom Amundsen 2014

http://thinkingoutloudagain.wordpress.com

Stones which must be rolled away

 

ron stoned

When Mary went to the tomb of Jesus on that first Easter morn

She knew that she had a problem that she must solve that day

She knew that the tomb with a large stone had been sealed

The problem was “who would help her roll the stone away?”

This is a problem that was not unique to them

And it is one that each one of us must face

For there are many stones in our life that need to be rolled away

Stones that hinder every member of the human race

The first stone to be rolled away is the stone of sin

A tendency which all of us have inherited

The desire that we should always please ourselves

Which shows that our salvation has not been merited

The second stone is the stone of unbelief

Which we have no faith in a future life in eternity

The belief that we must get as much as we can from our life on earth

Without excepting there is a future life in eternity

The third stone to be rolled away is the sin of pride

The feeling that we are superior to those we know

We may well be proud of our achievements

But humility is the other face we should show

The fourth stone to be rolled away is the sin of idolatry

When we worship Gods that have been made by man

Things which might not be bad in themselves

But not the God who was present when the world began

The fifth stone to be rolled away is the stone of prejudice

When we erect barriers between ourselves and others that we meet

Our conclusions are often drawn before all the facts are known

In other words we make our judgement before our knowledge is complete

And there are many other stones that need to be rolled away

If from the tomb of misery we are to be freed

For if we could live a truly happy life

We must live the kind of life God decreed

Ron Martin

 

Love ~ Promote Yourself

soul
                                     love is a feeling deep in your soul it spreads though your body with no control,it reaches our heart at speed of light with out any assistance with out a fight. ~          ~                  ~                                                                                          Life becomes hard not easy to bare,            some people think that we don’t just care,    it becomes a battle just to survive with all our emotions we take in our strife, some times we laugh some times we cry even some times we just don’t know why.  We feel alone so sad to see we don’t understand completely.                  ~                                                                  This life we lead we try to find,true love in our hearts not in our minds,we hope and pray for its real,but it never is its a.bad deal.                                                    With all our feelings high and low we wonder how things are slow,though strenth and love an honesty,you wonder how you can be me.                                      ~                                                                  Strong and gentle love can be why don’t you wait and see,love and cuddles all day long,sharing wine and a song.                    love you know here and there a glass of wine just to share.                                        This is love for you and me we will be happy for all eternity.                                    ~                      patricia bourne 

Divine Symphony – Promote Yourself

wind

The clouds began to build,
and as the morning progressed,
the blacker the skies became.
First one drop then another,
the rain fell upon the ground.

The rain; a harbinger of events,
the wind was sure to bring.
a torrent of rain fell,
from the heavens its energy spent falling,
each raindrop pounded,
recklessly into the ground.

The winds blew in fierce gusts,
rocking the trees to and fro,
pruning and breaking the limbs
from trees the limbs flying aimlessly,
through the skies to nowhere.

Then with a crash,
and a boom the thunder told,
its telltale story, lightning had struck the earth.
One bolt, then another struck,
the flashes, and the booms,
growing more frightful,
with each strike.

The storm increased its ferocity,
lightning flashed, thunder echoed,
throughout the land,
they flashed and boomed,
in a continuous concert,
of nature’s purest and finest notes.

Hail began to fall assaulting the earth,
usurping the rains path from the clouds,
the once whispering rain,
now replaced with raucousness,
of pop, click, and thud.

The concert continued,
sustained by constant rain and hail,
prolonged by incessant lighting,
uninterrupted by perpetual thunder,
and conducted by none other,
than the Divine Wind.

Of course, the earth will survive,
and when the conditions are favourable,
the Divine Wind will pick up its baton,
and begin a new symphony,
using only the purest notes it has to offer.

Just as it has done for time without end,
All living things are invited to attend,
and every one of us is guaranteed,
a front row seat to watch and listen,
to the symphony the Divine Wind conducts.

All the elements of the symphony are;
written and conducted by the Divine Wind,
it cares not whether,
its performance is or isn’t enjoyed,
its joy is measured by the destruction,
it leaves in its wake.

And the aftermath of nature’s symphony,
the earth will cleanse itself,
of what remains behind,
and will wait patiently for the next gala opening,
of the Divine Wind’s newest symphony.

Posted by Frank Goulding

Unlike Everything Ordinary – Promote Yourself


lifennnnnnnnnnnnnn
I want to create something 
Something that would stay
Against the storms and obstacles 
I know I’ll see it the next day

People come in your life 
Making empty promises to you 
Saying they would stick around 
But, they never do 

They leave you all alone 
And, I don’t like it 
I want to build something strong 
Using my wit

And it would be permanent, for once 
Unlike everything ordinary  

By Grace Linton 
Here’s the link of this post on my blog: http://justsomeimportantwords.wordpress.com/2014/04/16/unlike-everything-ordinary/

How Do You Do – Promote Yourself

sweet old womon

You only walked past
As you shuffled
Up the ramp, sweet old women
I gave you
No sign
Just a soft smile, I saw
You touched my heart
All the way inside, you
Made me think I will
See myself crisp and bold
As you see yourself
I won’t soon forget
Every detail of yourself, I
Only mere seconds, give
Take, the memory will last
Your sparkle
Glowing wilds in your eyes, how
Could I do anything
Remember your blooming rosy perfume
Your teased gray hair, nothing
Out-of-place, the red
Lipstick on your
Lips, perfectly
Pressed white blouse
Pleats and ruffles, in
Just the right place
Your dressy black
Pants no lint, no
Wrinkles, sassy and relaxed
A thick gold necklace
I am sure it has
A story, I worried
It was weighing you down
You wore it proudly, you are
A peacock flaunting gracefully
Strong hands with rings
Almost every finger, like
Notches on the wall, how
Many years have you been here
Walker dazzling fresh
Cut tennis balls on the back legs
Shinning silver, strong
Not a mark, giving you the freedom
To do so many things
Those black patented leather
Flats with a wide
Bow at the toe, shine
How, staying on your
Little feet as you shuffle
On, forward slow motion
The warmest, softest, most familiar
Part, although like I said
You are a stranger
Not to my heart
Your smile, with every
Tiny step forward, proud
Thankful smile that you
Are here, doing
What you want
No caregiver holding
Your arm, no one
With a worried look feeling
Like they are wasting
Their time, just you
Taking your time, finding
Your way it must have taken
You all day to look
This way, did you wake up
In the morning and think
I am going to the store, not
Knowing how you were
Going to put the groceries
In the cart. Did you
First take a bath or lay out
Your clothes, were you so excited
You did those things
The night before. How many
Hours did you plan, find
Your way into your freshly
Pressed attire, did you
Take the bus, have a friend
Drop you off, oh what
I would give to see your list
Probably heavy things
Like a ten pound bag of flour
I can see that you have
Always found a way to make
It work, no matter what
Keep a smile
On your face. What a gift
To see you, share
A short but brilliant smile
What I wouldn’t give to share
More
A bit of tea, home made
Banana muffin and talk
With you a while
Have you touch my hand, believe
Me and you, listening
A moment
I’ll bring you flowers
Written By: Carrie Browne 

I am new to this beautiful outlet of poetry. I stay home with my two wild boys and enjoy spending time in the outdoors when ever I get the chance. You can view more of my writing and photographs at The Shady Tree The Shady Tree

rainy-morning-rush-hour-promote Yourself


rainy morn

Walking gumboots,
Beside wet shoes,
Splashing footsteps,
Sprinkling tyres,
Bubbles in droplets,
Flowing waters,
Filled up puddles,
Washed ground
shining in dimmed sunlight.

Running footsteps,
Secured bags,
Flying umbrellas,
Dripping raincoats,
Busy streets,
Rushing cars,
Jammed traffic,
Wet windy skies -
thumping on rooftops.

Waving sleeves,
At people in shelters;
Alighting feet,
From blinking cars;
Creating trails,
From earth to mars;
A Singing siren
Making way;
This is todays’ morning rush hour..
A Wet Windy weather chilling in power.

-Written by Padmaja

Wishes – Promote Yourself

wishes

 

Often I write poetry as a way to release,
Thoughts of my love, that will not cease.
Other times I write more to confess,
Expressions of love I cannot repress.
Mostly I write of things forbidden,
Like my intense desire, that I must keep hidden.
Pamela Corbett

Mark Whelan Writes – Promote Yourself

 
Poem One: 
 
ignorance is not bliss
 
today we burnt the only mattress on which we would have slept tonight 

slp

 

today we littered our streets with rocks and burning tyres from vehicles which would

have taken us to our only destination

a place called hope

 

Poem Two:

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN

Notice how many times we say good-bye when we

Part like love birds leaving storm gathering gulping

 

de villiers st

 

Atmosphere to sigh out too cold to shudder out rather be in from the

Rain shaking off its moisture as two stable geese after gathering its brood

 

Fed comforted cherished brood jealous as the fox does when it

Clutches onto a helpless meal when we part kisses too many to gather countless as 

Heavy winter drops thud to rumbling roll storm clouds colliding eternally

Never really alone are we solitary panther alone slinking obscurely in

 

 

Tree of life hidden from unsympathetic eyes seeks only weakness to ravish

At a peak on a mountain top blue watching pattering steps 

Closer to ending journey one final look back not like wife of Lot but happy glance

Careful thought as lonely eagle ponders prey until we meet again

 

 

I am both a featured and published writer (modestly, mind you, as I’ve yet to earn my daily bread from it). With reference to poetry, I completed three portfolio’s of works with my University of South Africa. All three portfolio’s feature small anthologies of poetry. Two of the portfolio’s were awarded distinctions.

 

I am finally completing my BA in languages and literature in which I am writing papers on poetry through the courses entitled Structuralism and Semiotics and Advanced theory of Poetry. One of the papers, previously marked by my good professor, received a distinction, 90% would you believe. In it, I wrote about the works of both Sylvia Plath and Ingrid Jonker. The second paper, I expect to do well here too, features Ted Hughes and Antje Krog.

 

I am bristling to get my writing career off to a prosperous start, and I write daily on film, literature, politics, history and cultural matters. I am also writing short stories and working on at least two novels, when it will be finished, I cannot yet say.

 

Time permitting, you are, of course invited to follow me on Moviemarks (also on WordPress), and leave you with my addresses for your ease, and in good spirits and gratitude for your invitations.

 

Should you wish to know more about me, you are most welcome to ask.

 

With kind regards,

Mark

https://markwhelansliteraryblog.wordpress.com/ : Mark Whelan Writes

https://markwhelansfilmlitblog.wordpress.com/ : Moviemarks

The Answered Prayer – Promote Yourself

   

godwwwwwww

 

The shock of it has brought me to my knees.

And I ask you God please,

help me through this.

I don’t want it to be my time.

I love You and want to be with You one day.

But I still have my sons & grandchildren I want to watch play.

I want to see them grow and of YOU and Your wonder for them to know.

I want to see Your beauty and Your wonderful gifts.

I ask please for more time with my best friend,

You joined us long ago and I love him so.

To feel Your air and see Your flowers,

to climb Your hills and know Your power.

I will follow Your will as you wish,

and do it gladly and thank You so.

But I will miss all the gifts I have gotten to know.

You have given me so much here,

and it is in sadness and a bit of fear,

I ask You God help me be true,

to face this thing that I must do.

Whatever You do decide,

may I be strong and in Your will abide

 

 By Linda Garcia

writingwildly@wordpress.com

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