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One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
I’d rather write than speak
My pen is always responsive
My ink doesn’t judge my mistakes
My paper doesn’t argue
My lines never cross me
My sentences never disappoint
And my words will never leave me
Your sun was hot
Heating my inside and out
        Warming my spirit
        Friends — we are it

My dark days were over
My four leaf clover
        Oh what great luck
        ‘‘Twas I that was plucked

A ****, not a flower
So small, not a tower
        But still you chose me
        Filling me with glee

Your sun was hot
And the water was caught
        Drying the streaks
        Of tears on my cheeks
For some reason I told myself I’d never write about you, but here I am and all I can write about is you

— The End —