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After twenty years of searching,
I toss away the campus.
I audit my blessings,
And gladly pitch tent.

Here, demons fear to tread;
For mighty angels hover over me.
Here, ghastly storms shy away;
Pestilence winks and passes through.

Still, Wind is daring;
He threatens to blow me away.
He conspires with my heart
To take me back to that place.

The Immediate raises her voice,
And the Ultimate whispers.
I take a vote & try to step out,
I then laugh and start to cry.

It’s how weak I am.
Like a feather on a glide.
But He says His power
Is made perfect in my weakness.

“Focus!”
He says softly.
He sits back,
I time travel in His eyes.

“The bus will be here soon!”

Herbert Uba

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