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Darkness surrounds you in your bed alone,

takes over your body, feelings, and soul.

You cringe in great pain and loudly you groan;

a wounded spirit that longs to be whole.

Abandoned in darkness as in a cave

without old Fingal’s music to relieve

the strains of roaring, crashing, white-topped wave

crushing your vessel; they won’t let you leave

for gentle pools in an ocean of calm

that pacifies the buffeted temper;

you cry for the One who anoints with balm

that soothes your total being’s distemper.

Appearing most absent, he is most near,

holds you to his bosom, a son most dear.

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