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Rated: E · Poetry · Religious · #2210210
For Herta Klara Kullick, 1909-2005
Our Father grows great bonfires
from simple sparks:

He pulled me from His dark reserves,
dusted off and aired me in fresh light.
He set me in a new land,
taught me a strange tongue,
poured me out friends
almost more than I could hold.
He made them curious, kinetic,
quick to embrace virtue with vigor.
He lit our spirits like fuses,
touched us off running
toward home.

We are young and unfinished,
but God also glories
in salvation for the small.
He delights to hide up little
surprises for the diligent to find.
He plants gifts for the gathering
even in children.

Contest/publish records:
Song of Names: A Mormon Mosaic, by James Goldberg, Ardis Parshall, Carla Jimison
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