There is a wind,
You may feel it
blowing now
A bright, curling
thing
Resting so lightly
Upon your fevered
brow.
You and I,
We are one
Are all of us
Made from the
selfsame dust
Oh lord,
Sweet sad humans
If not us
Then who can we
trust?
Come and go,
Be at peace
Rest your eyes
Stretch your legs a
piece
Run out your hearts
dreams
Until panting in
exhaustion
You find at last
Something in which
To believe.--T.R.
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