Day Thirty-Two

Sometimes a little is harder than none
and sometimes a weaning is hard to do
And sometimes the cold will kill you dead
And birds fly high away.

Sipping my coffee I remember this:
In days gone by you held back the storm
and other days you plunged me into the icy waters with your own hand
where I thought I would die… but did not.

A heart is a hard thing to tame
Perhaps this is why you must give new ones
and perhaps this is why
we must be born again.

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