Privileged to get another portion of this sacred daily bread,
I know not to dwell on worldly attachments.
I carry the rock I nestle my head on
as I march on to Haran.
Goodness and mercy keep me company;
surely they shall follow me to the end of our pilgrimage.
Marching through in Autumn,
expecting flowers soon, with bees after.
Pivoting away from lovers not of my rib,
survived Winter - following the compass of my heart.
Grateful for my critical thinking,
as many follow the map of their palms.
Constantly reminding myself of the concept of abundance,
we journey to green pastures and quiet waters,
where ethereal restoration awaits.
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