The Beholder
Your love touched horizons Shading into skies: These late Sunday pastels From your patient eyes
Still keep you, grandmother, Living in my sight; Your landscapes hold Heaven Within their light’s light.
For, “O, Gentle Presence . . . ” Your touch had them sing – These winter-green pastures Resting until spring:
Of you, my grandmother, Of your faith-filled days; Your heart shared its graces, &n…
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