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Who cooked the books? Part to..(explore)

I find, that I've been helped to carry on.
To wear a happy attitude for days,
is not a task that I'm keen to run from.
God's showing me into his bright Sun's rays.

To hold on hoping, somehow this will bring,
a further light into our present world.
This gifted place, that god has brought by sing-,
ing out of space and time, as matters curled,

into an sphere that's blue, and brown and green.
It is a thought that's become very real,
I see it as a parable that's been,
a morsel for me, but not quite a meal.

These thoughts I have inside my heart and head,
On pages find my meaning written down,
Like fairies straight from dreams I have in bed,
These pages might cause someone less to frown.

I'm cooking up some words, and rhymes to sing.
I hope that they will soon find my guitar,
But if they don't, I think that I might wing,
It, and start memorizing in the car.

For God's work is just like a plant that grows,
Into a tree, come from the smallest seed.
Giving gifts to birds and beasts, it owes,
Nothing to anyone, but helps in need,

The needy who have come to rest their eyes,
Or pick a fruit to feed their hungry soul,
A shady place it is to ward off flies,
And for a parrot be a nesting hole.

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