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 Pages Of A Woman's Soul


Sounded down deep
the foghorn of conscience
blows low and melancholy
for those in want,
and somber
the mind makes
the heart cry.

Forward in time
thoughts merge, converge
on a point from which
rescue is sure;
words spoken
with mercy
hope quickens.

Here now at last
the fog has disappeared
and the Son's light melts the cold
then God's grace heals
and comforts
all those who
would beckon.

K.Tate Jacoby
copyright July 9, 2002

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