I'll share a poem I wrote about my daughter before she was born last summer.
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When you hit rock bottom
your roots become dry
then when you find water
you realize why

That without moisture
you'll wither away
so wash with the word
while it is called today

On the lakeside hill
where the waters flow
there's a baby girl
named ***low

So if she's born
on that chosen day
I ask you Lord
to guide her way
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For every dark day, a bright day follows. Peace is coming!