Alone.

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A crone's heart of mine bleeds,
Torrents of tears fall on an icy stone,
The world around tumbles noisily,
While I sit in the middle, but all alone.

Desolation also leaves and breath stops,
The winds have changed, too hard I try,
Yet these blows and thorns of steel have not,
And neither shall they make me cry.

The absent shoulders and laps are cold
I want deep roots in me and mine,
No one there to answer my questions,
Is ask of a thing so small, so big a crime?

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