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Grace

“O big, brown brother out of the waste,
  How do thistles for breakfast taste?
  And do you rejoice in the dawn divine
  With a heart that is glad no less than mine?”
    ~ C. S. Lewis aka Clive Hamilton
      Poem xxvii “The Ass” from Spirits in Bondage (1919)

Grace
You wouldn’t understand
My rejection
Of the place I was obliged to call home
I felt nothing good was to be found there
Since you have faith in the land
Accept its truthfulness
Cherish it
Put down your roots
Anyway you’ll learn
Even though it would bring all you need
Your sustenance
Your blood
Your soul mate
Your essence
From which your running away
Is running from yourself

Grace
I wouldn’t understand
The ripples in the fabric
You might call love
You knew nothing in me was lacking
Nor was I or could I be alone
Peeking out through the gaps
Of a thick hard shell
That I thought to exist
Until I found a place of acceptance
Of all that surrounds me
Put down my roots
To learn the hard way
My homecoming
My heartwarming
My creativity
My joy
Belongs to everyone

Grace
Who understands
The purpose of guidance
That until we really acknowledge it
Leads us blindly
By the nose
Whether we know the land
For the failings of its denizens
Its history of exploitation
Its frigid winter harshness
Its sweltering long summer
Or the magic it breathes
Into our consciousness
That despite all appearances
We live here today
Thriving
Because it’s there

Thanks always returns

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