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November 11, 1994



waylaid by a dream

walking secure

I am tripped up by a whim

a passing flight of fancy

holding no promise for tomorrow


beauty is fair to behold

its pleasures all too real

so sweetly it calls

but hardly comparing

to the beauty of Him

whose love didnt tempt

didnt lie or deceive

but brought Him to die

for such a one as I


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