The keepers of things, the balances...shades of grey, that never change, idle...like a wheel in a breath of breeze, turn today. Grace, is not as graceful as it was. Listen, to your tinkering 'whirligigs', your ill displacement's of the will of God, whisper..."something strange"...some tumult coming to your cause.
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2017, at Deming, New Mexico
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