I'm going to need

a miracle seed

to grow inside of me.

Bring only good deeds,

to both my shoulders please,

guided preferably.

Cleanse the crow, it cries.

And if it dies, make it rise.

Pure its soul, be wise.

Minister to it, with keen eyes.

I know that to the soil, it has ties,

rudely doubt it when it flies.

And scold it for any lies,

clearly it is of the dark nights.

Let it know that we are all at the twilight,

earnestly between shadows and lights.

Shining silver when it's free,

especially smooth and silky.

Even though it cannot fly, see,

delightfully, its soul takes it high, see.

It's transformation is all thanks to God's mercy.

Feed them loafs of hope, yes feed,

and pray God inside them miracle seed.

To make their dreams reality.

To bless them with divinity.

Bestow upon thee thy seed.

∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎

ద ద 𖦊 ꪉ 𐀔 𐃸 ద 𖦊 ʊ

༒ ༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ᜊ ༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

ద ༒

༒ . ༒

༒ . . ᰔ

༒

༒