When troubled by my follies, friend,
I turn to your warm, wise heart.
I find your patience, without end,
Sinks into my sould with healing art.
Unravled are the webs I wove
To entrap and deceive me.
Lifted the world under which I strove,
And now an Atlas unbound I'm free.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Through the looking glass
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