A win, whim, a swim to trample over them.
Angels ready in and out field
on the rise high to do dat to them that opposed Him.
As I begin in deliverance; raw idealism.
A mother pearl filled with wisdom seeking to fulfill tasks brimming forth from holy vats.
Then there’s a he who’s a roving man.
Lightning doesn’t stand a chance.
The winds of change thrust him about.
No amount of loving him will make him less strange.
by Jerriè McGill
All material is subject to Copyright laws.