Humility is not a fact. Come close that he may hear your mood turn creamed corn when fathoming absolution. Mordant speech cuts hypotheses of forgiveness beyond a human purview. Nice your way into his unriveting dark heart. Venial transgressions failing to play well with others stretch across the beach. One plays into a sacrament embedded in the march toward assumed redemption. No one weathers hat space anymore, given the downhome run on handsome warbling. Breach the dove path heard for its own sake mid-morning. Father something preceding a wide berth.
Givens, plasticity in feeling seeds tossed freely away
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Sheila E. Murphy
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