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Psalms 126

My eyes open and there is a fog, I begin to unfold my tired bones, One foot in front of the other, Each step is labored, My eye gaze through the smudged glass, I reach out to touch it, cold, I see the trees begin to rustle, I must go, it’s time to go, Though I’m weary I must, This is my inheritance, I must go out to the land of my father, The land of many failed crops, My father wept for this land,
I step out, the dust swirls about my ankles, I slowly fold down, I touch the dry dust, Many have mocked me, “The land will never produce,” One lone tear rolls down my cheek, Into my dust, I have sewn many seeds, I have watered with many tears, I trusted my father when he said, “Sew, water, and reap my son,” I have not seen the harvest, But I know, I know it’s coming,
I must walk, I must go out among the seed, The tears flow, I go out unto every row, The wind picks up, I watch the dust fly, This is my inheritance, My father’s field, I walk, I drop to my knee, I see it...

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