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Only a Shrine, but Mine—
I made the Taper shine—
Madonna dim, to whom all Feet may come,
Regard a Nun—
 
Thou knowest every Woe—
Needless to tell thee—so—
But can’st thou do
The Grace next to it—heal?
That looks a harder skill to us—
Still—just as easy, if it be thy Will
To thee—Grant me—
Thou knowest, though, so Why tell thee?

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Tourniquet Kevin Vicent Prakash Mackay lilianacruzguillen@hotmail.com z Kterine Taborda