When the flood of Your words
leaves me speechless and hollow,
my own expressions meaningless
as the complaints of a flag
dealt roughly by the wind,
it’s like the story of the king
who allowed his attendants
to seize any one treasure
to be given freely unto them. O Beloved!
Like the faithful servant girl,
let me grasp the king’s hand, the source
of these treasures and every other,
evident or hidden, honoring the Poet,
His words and wisdom, His prowess and plan.
O child of God, these poems should always
leave you empty of any comparisons.
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