Isn`t is strange O Lord
that he who loves wine, loves it more than my love for you
That one who thrives on work
enjoys it more than my thoughts for you
Isn`t it strange
that one`s thirst for knowledge
exhausts one`s desire for you
that the need to heal and help
overcomes and takes up virtually everything
In all these wonders and works of distraction
you still remain my only comfort
and so I pause and reflect
at the strangeness of everything else beside You
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