Whereupon it rained, said the shepherdess.
It shined through, that day, wrote the shepherd.
Was it dignity?, added she.
Were it not for your pride, chided he.
For indeed it had been so many hours, so many years, so many forevers ago, that she had beheld her sanctuary. With all her pride she had beheld it. And it was gruesome, for God's presence filled the paradise.
So beautiful, so splendorous, was the place, darting about her dreams, her brightest sunshine, that such a world would never cease again.
Words that were left to render it present became a continuous thread, woven along the specks and glitters of Time Itself. Of all that ever was, ever is, ever will be.
It shined through, that day, wrote the shepherd.
Was it dignity?, added she.
Were it not for your pride, chided he.
For indeed it had been so many hours, so many years, so many forevers ago, that she had beheld her sanctuary. With all her pride she had beheld it. And it was gruesome, for God's presence filled the paradise.
So beautiful, so splendorous, was the place, darting about her dreams, her brightest sunshine, that such a world would never cease again.
Words that were left to render it present became a continuous thread, woven along the specks and glitters of Time Itself. Of all that ever was, ever is, ever will be.
But memory is never lost, whispered she.
Will you then ever find it? breathed he.
Will you then ever find it? breathed he.
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