Approaching the altar,
My steps began to falter
My situation – I hoped to alter.
For the fate of my daughter
Depended on the words I was about to utter.
Thereby, “faith” I tried to muster
Yet my utterance came out a stutter
Of desperate mutters.
But that was just for starters
Because my child met with an accident in her quarters:
She had slipped over a patch of butter
Thus falling prey to an active coal cutter
And due to the fact that no One was around to halt her,
We dispatched a bloody figure to Calcutta
The workplace of our family doctor.
Now I know I haven’t done this before
But this risk is too high to endure
I needed someone to assure
Me that her recovery they would ensure.
So God, here I am before the altar.
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