Ode to God

I see the crowd
adore You, My Lord
For the sun stays golden
For it sets in West behind the mountain
For it becomes Your summon

Soon after Your sky turns dark-blue
They get ready to meet You
Tranquilly
Peacefully

Millions prayers evaporate in the air
Fly high beyond Your sky
When the time comes on
Even on someday they won't know
You rain their granted wish down
as falling snow
Some are fast, some are slow.
.
.
.
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