The work of thy fingers

T

Now that pollution’s mask has cleared away
partly for an instant
we see the work of thy fingers,
the multitude of stars;
O that within,  these fingers might be working still,
Moulding, reshaping
With tenderness refiguring
What we are
And what we might be.

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A.J. Amos
A.J. Amos

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A.J. Amos By A.J. Amos

A.J. Amos

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