To feel the falling rain
That trickles down my face
And not to think of gain
Or reference holy grace,

But just to let it wet
The skin I’m living in,
And, thereby, to forget
What I have always been:

The one, almighty all,
With neither start nor end,
Whose writing’s on the wall
For each to comprehend.

Yes, that would make it worth
My being given birth.

Photo by reza shayestehpour on Unsplash

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