Connected
(Excerpt From Paristieme)
by Jeanne Fuller
The greatest mind
Cast the perfect mold
Circled in design.
Hand touching hand
The pattern holds.
Heart touching heart
Completes the mold.
In this round
Do we belong
Where the touch of love
Is the spirit's song
The matchless circle
Widens and renews,
No distortion
Or irregular proportion
Will break or bend
The line that God intends
As hand touches hand
An inner strength arises
Surrounded
Compounded
Upheld by infinite command.
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