Robert James Lyle Smith


Grace

Flickering in shadows of places unseen,
Dappled uncertainties, ill-informed dreams,
Unobtrusive in flight, with inconstant wing
With pinions spread wide, light gently glides in.

Is this the way that grace abounds?
When all seems lost, when nature frowns,
That deep down, things when battered by strife,
Offer their pain in exchange for new life?

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