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‘You’re a rock.

My rock.’

You said

 

What kind of a rock am I?

 

Do you stand on me

to get a better view?

 

Do you step on me

to cross the stream?

 

Do you sit on me

to weep a while?

 

Or do you hold me in your hand

like a talisman?

 

‘All four and more.’

You say

 

Oh my!

 

‘Your rock has a cave

where I shelter and see

paintings that reflect

the beauty in me.’

 

‘But, dear rock,’

You ask

‘What rock holds you?’

 

My rock can heal,

but can’t be hurt

 

Sure as a mountain

free as a bird

 

My rock is in me

and in all I survey

 

My rock, the Beloved

And his love, my way.

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