Strong and small and fragile and soft,
and always still standing-
your soul in this flesh,
breathing, even when you’re lying down.
Fluid as a whistle,
liquid as the wind
rising while filling the earth’s forests-
Your self in your world,
as you grow into your crowns.
Beautiful! ‘As you grow into your crowns’ – thus phrase is a sermon waiting to happen (I preach) Your poems are gorgeous.
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