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The Folly of Man for Birds

Oh, to be a bird and fly!
soaring above mortal toil,
Fleeing in altitudes-
the gravity of the mundane
escaping the grinding down
of a measured life,
What chance of flight now,
thirty five summers
then consumed of dust
Pslam 39:4
LORD, make me to know mine end,
and the measure of my days,
what it is; that I may know how frail I am.

14 Nov 17

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