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Woe is me for what I am,
Gathered as the summer fruit;
Spreading the shell of a clam,
My soul desires a root.
 
As when the grapes has been gleaned,
First-ripe my soul desires;
Ensuring as pure and cleaned,
For what my taste requires.
 
The godly perished from earth,
No one left to be upright;
Blood lies await for their worth,
But none of them see the light.
 
Their hands are what is evil,
As the judge asks for a bribe;
The soul craved by the devil,
To become part of his tribe.
 
Thus he weaves them together,
For mischievous desire;
The most upright will gather,
To be a hedging brier.
 
As the day of your watchmen,
Has come for your punishment;
In chaos God will condemn,
For wicked accomplishment.
 
Put no trust in a neighbor,
No confidence in a friend;
Guard yourself in your labor,
From the mouth that will offend.
 
Sons dishonor their father,
Enemies in their own house;
Daughters against their mother,
Conflicts between man and spouse.
 
But I look unto the Lord,
Waiting for His salvation;
As I walk in one accord,
To be His new creation.

Copyright © 2020 Richard Newton Sherrer




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