Extravagant love, the one who is like the mighty oak.
The delicacy of your leaves intimately mined, intricately grown, intensionally sown - the seed.
Breeze will blow, to your arms, you beacon the crow.
Seen in the canvas of your barque, glistens a resemblance the arc.
Though lightning came in the darkest of night, from root to leaf, split in two.
Birthed anew, budded, now bloom by grace a seed.
The raven's ballad now for you.
Delighted your gaze.
Embers of glory stir anew, for she is rooted, grown, and grounded by you.
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"You, Oh, Lord, are the one my soul longs for."
(Psalm 63)
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