Still

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If ours alone to chart a

course unto the stars.

If but a day to seize a

breath of sunlit air.

If mere a touch of

earthly flame where

flesh was heartened innocent,

to give the fruit of

loin and womb as

gift to world

with no return, still,

there is love.

If toil adorned in mundane

shame and passing glory clashing,

fate and will each stubborn lorn,

more the way of suffering, still,

there is love.

If sight of mind blind to the real,

and vision yields to fade of eyes,

a mountain standing by unmoved,

and faith expires in darkened dread, still,

there is love.

If that of God were

but a thought

and heaven myth or

yon a dream,

if verse the lilt to

lift our hearts upon

this way of mystery, still,

there is love.

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