Top of the line, the wine very divine.
Reminded to be kind, on the low, was the design.
To find, after being found, our words then bound.
Saying our prayers in our head, as if it was said aloud.
The clouds then hover, the Sun a sight to see.
Reminded to be God, is like being me.
Free from thought, our rites allow us to rush.
Praying to the high El that it won't be a bust.
To fuss, is as if disgraced, our home in Aquila, our base.
To see the face of God, a clue given, for the case.
The race seems steady, the hare in remote time.
That's when the turtle finally crossed the line.
To bind, is to enrich, our love spreads from above.
With white light, surrounded by fire, extraordinary, like a dove.
Up above, is what we seek, we master the tongue.
At peace from within, well wasn't that fun?
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