Which was that age of yore when You'd appeared?
I have forgot its day and its moment...
They've sunk to the floor of some pit very deep;
Only the yoke of memory has been preserved.
That hoary past, there is no record scribed in history,
In any adumbration, in any line of writing on a leaf.
Those ancient times, they're kept alive in the mind only;
Made wet by tears is affection's necklace.
The ancient past, once again it won't come back;
Flower-filled won't return affectionate assemblage.
But You will just persist, kissing both the sky and earth;
And that's why I bow to You many times, myriad.
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Friday, January 7, 2022
And yet
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There's no going back; but we don't need to, as He never left.
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