Sunday Sonnet!

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I cannot tell the depth of debt I owe
To hallowed architect of life, contrived,
With ne’er a mite of hope to disavow,
That all these years, by Grace, I have survived;
Not always prudent in elected path,
In innocence as much as ignorance,
Bequeathing painful scars in aftermath,
Benificence prevailed in my defence.
Grim, darker days by demons were beset,
Yet, held by loyal love of one who cared,
The halls of hope to want were never let,
Nor falls to taunts of shame were ever bared.
A grateful heart to God of Grace I raise,
With sacramental songs replete with praise.

©Meanderings 2018

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