saint

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The crowds sang her fate 50 philosophers, she converted- But not one, would share her estate She stood, keeping her eyes on God  
She saw Him He saw Her   Both on contacts with the eye   whatever were the distractions to be   it was but a sweet meet   a sweet feast a joyous joy
Saintly silent waits he, to have a silent slight glimpse of her again, he silently misses her milky face, her big round eyes.   Saintly he waits silent, for his silent alarm to ring again,
If a sinner is what I'm called to be, Take the halo away from me.  Take away what makes me a saint, my angel wings you must taint.    Make me a criminal to the core,
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