Jesus, I said, Lord,
PLEASE don't let him die! Still, he
died. Why was that, Lord?
What good did it do,
that he lived at all, and died,
with only "Papa" said?
What is the point of
inarticulate lives? No
truth, no praise, no song?
I had no answer, then,
but now I think that all life
is an endless song.
It is not, though, a
song composed primarily
for our amusement,
or even for our admiration.
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