The artist made a painting and we said it was you;
in faith never wanting, we revered it as true.
You looked so familiar, like the neighbor next door;
bedecked with much grandeur, gold and jewels galore.
Eyes shut in devotion, hands folded in prayer;
all rituals in perfection, your presence we shared.
And yet I know you are formless, beyond time and all space;
with dimensions that are endless, no image can we trace.
So for comfort and ease, we believe this to be you;
love it and praise it, with a devotion so true.
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