Weathering the storm


She slings her arrows which I catch in my chest

As she knew that I would

For she always knows best.

Then she throws at me stones

Which smash through my bones

As I knew that they could

And as she knew that they would.

But then she covers me with a down

A soft white gentle gown.

And here I live in the winter of my inner tent

Upon whose colourful groundsheets I have spent

Most of my days..Some in unseasonable ways.

But if charity begins at charity’s home

Then no longer shall I roam

I shall remain

Changeable.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. tapping
    Oct 03, 2011 @ 19:06:16

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    Reply

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