Saturday, May 28, 2011

Brimful Jug

If once the pond they rose to hold to hurt,
  her hands she cupped and spoke so slow and she
    the one they sing of ply the veil. And she

that stood were kept at least and blind to put
  such drink today my mouth she bruised if once
    from me withdrawn to which I gave undone.

The walk the toil the veil ornate as one
  in this belief and gleam of sun so that
    we all in kneel to pray. We lay that was

if once unscathed by will confess and His
  the hallowed scorn had mount and now if each
    whose word were stir and simply left to lyre.

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