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 Pages Of A Woman's Soul


Puffed up with pride,
All bluster,
We take our stance
Certain it is we
Who are the injured.

Smug and secure
Wrapped up in our
Blanket of self-righteousness
How easily we forget
In Whose image we are made.

In profound ignorance
We remain estranged
From one another, and the Creator-
Too compelled by hate to
Remember and honor
His humble request:
To love.

K.Tate Jacoby
September 8, 1999

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