Old Soul

Of course, I could be wrong;
It happens all the time,
But I recall the song
Which God sang in His prime.

A pure and simple air
He hadn’t done before,
It echoed everywhere,
From shore to golden shore.

And, ever since that day,
I’ve longed to catch that tune,
But, listen as I may,
I haven’t heard God croon.

It’s not that He’s gone cold;
It’s just that I’m so old.

Photo by Danie Franco on Unsplash

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