Hear me Child
For I have sinned
Hate me Now
In all your grace
Have you Seen
The water's fall
Hark your Eyes
They fill with fear
Hold me Dear
For time has spun
Help my Soul
When he has come
Here we Steer
Our endless call
Heal Ourselves
From fruitless love
Hear me Child
For we do fall
YOU ARE READING
March of the Flowers
PoetryOne by one, we march. We march. Our branches tired. Our leaves are wearied. March of the Flowers is a collection of poetry
