Scattered, lay her children, upon the cold wet floor,
Rain and wind had stolen them, at her arms, they tore.
Who will console this mother, her young return once more?
Gently, the Saviour gathers, her pride of leaves restore.
~ D.F.
Scattered, lay her children, upon the cold wet floor,
Rain and wind had stolen them, at her arms, they tore.
Who will console this mother, her young return once more?
Gently, the Saviour gathers, her pride of leaves restore.
~ D.F.
What gorgeous words! You’ve captured the sentiment of that great cycle beautifully! 🙂 Many blessings, Bia
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Many thanks, Bia! Take care and blessings always 🙂
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