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It Must Still Be There

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That sanctuary is still there.
In the valley where the live oaks grow
Scattered across the landscape of hope.

Turn down the lane to where the wonderful one is waving,
Beckoning as you come down the hill.

Down the hill to your singular home once more.

You've been here before.
Been here and welcomed,
Always welcome.

Embraced in the open arms of acceptance,
And never any regrets.

Only the landscape of hope.
Always the honor of being loved
With no regrets.

This last time it's now the way of no return. 

No return.

Down the beckoning, accepting, reckoning lane.   

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