Mine is but a step of Your marathon.
A single grain of sand, carried
Wave, by wave, by wave
Through the depths of your warm, salty embrace.
It is a needle on a seedling,
Sprouting beneath the ancient shade of Your canopy,
Nourished by Your sun, and rooted in the soil
Tilled by Your hand.
A mere portion of a percent of a fraction
Of what You give, I can only hope to return.
Yours endures, and imbues, and inspires.
Yours is exhaled from an inexhaustible surplus.
Yours abounds, Yours affords, Yours amounts
To all I have inside.
I owe all of mine to Yours.


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