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The Bride

by Brenda Sydnor © 2006

I stand before the King of Kings.
I fall down on my knees.
My head bowed in supplication.
He gently draws me to my feet.

He touches my face with tenderness.
Love shining from his eyes.
I gaze upon him in adoration.
He says I am his bride.

He clothes me in royal garments,
a jeweled crown upon my head.
He tells me that I am beautiful.
All flaws removed by the blood he shed.

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