Crimson Snow.

As snow falls from the sky, the ground is

painted red with a dripping smile.

The jaws within rend again and again

as the fight goes the full mile.

Paul says I do not do the good I will to

do, but that which is evil I do;

oh, wretched man that I am, suffering

the scourge of things I cannot subdue.

I try in human might to paint the

sky a different shade,

but on the purest snow, crimson

war is quickly made.

The battle rages on, and all I can

do is just to pray,

and listen for a word from Him

who holds my every day.

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