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May 15, 2007

18-25 Grand Prize Winner

Gold Mists
By Miss Leah Shoop

The silver needle darts through cloth
While pulling tight its scarlet thread,
With hands grown skillful yet still soft
To guide its course across the red.

Those hands create by candle wax
Fine linens fit for royalty,
They deftly work with wool and flax,
Spin silks, weave purple tapestry.

Stretched to the poor the hands extend
With gifts of clothes and food,
They freely give, they freely lend,
And sensitively offer good.

They are a mother's gentle hands,
And she delights to use them well.
To nourish life, God-blown through sand,
She cooks, and hunger's quickly quelled.

She raises daughters, trains her sons,
Wraps them in blessings warm and light,
While to her husband she becomes
A glory glowing ruby bright.

It's more than charm of glance or face,
Slight form, hair straightened smooth or curled.
She shines in mists of holy grace,
Gold mists that meet and mark the world.

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