The Christ

Merry Christmas

For all a chance, the soul to settle; eternally so. Begets beginning by the end we all must know. The grace I trust by all that moves – for but wonder. What leads that way is all to see over yonder.

Soul was born of grace to cling that love. That love to swing the very cling so rarely come my way. For once it does, the very way, eternal heart it puts to sway. So seldom does that once, it lasts forever jounce.

When it does by all in store, we burn forever at its core. Love some said, by all over yonder. Who said it first, I wonder? A miracle in all is wed before our eyes to raise the dead.

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