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// Sunday, June 01, 2014

A Prayer, of Sorts

O Lord, lead me to the center of a fallow field,
      at the height of summer,
      and let the corn rise around me
           in the blink of an eye.

And when the first snow begins to fall,
      bury my bones beneath a blanket of white,
      leaving only the husks of the last season
           to mark the miracle
                of what had been.

Copyright 2014 Christopher V. DeRobertis. All rights reserved.

This text composition is a work of fiction. Names, places, institutions, events, incidents, characters, persons, locations, and/or organizations either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Full Creative Writing Disclaimer.