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Imprisoned A man
gave me his precious gift A phone
card small and neat Twas all
he had to give in this world And not
a word of his story unfurled Yet he
gave to me a prisoner who Knew him
not nor what to do All he
had that day. Gone
from my sight and I knew not where But
Father God I ask I dare Request
a boon a gift from You That he
receives a token too Your
best Your Love Your Tenderness Should
he be ever in distress I thank
You God from Heaven come down For
blessings You bestow On each
and every one of us Imprisoned
here below © Ann Marsh Sunday, July 28, 2002 |
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