Your rod and staff, they comfort me – Joe Spring writes

Now in death’s valley, every shadow holds a haunting whistle, low. And dimly lit, diffused through haze they make the shapes that shake one’s gaze and settle groundward eyes. The clouds and fears creep dankly round and shroud the valley heavy, ripe for rot – if faced with fear, I hear him not.   Of…
— Read on joespringwrites.com/2020/04/14/your-rod-and-staff-they-comfort-me/

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