Even if I collected all the beauty in the world it wouldn't compare to yours.
But I still try to collect and collect and collect.
My empty words could never write the novels you birth in one breath.
But I still speak and speak and speak, never listening to your simple plea for me to listen.
A busybody who's never busy
My deeds can never reach.
But you reach
And it is done.
You act
And it is finished.
You speak
And it is very good.
More than all the beauty in the world - my Lord.
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