Await the Giver...
only dirt holds its seed
and wax its wick
which can not be a light alone
which can not be roots with home
so still I receive
I refuse the white flag
my lover is the fight
Death before life
night comes heavy breathing
so still Love in strife
a fire when begun
first flint
to spark
composed in black
then to gray
so still the sparrow
so still the day
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