There have passed I lonely days.
In the house my sister left.
I sat long by her bedside.
With the pain only she could heft.

Lives whose songs are sweet pass me by.
Others, grey-laden, stop a while.
Few, in dreams, on soft beds lie.
Loving hearts, never to meet.

Clear water, that weaves a spell.
Those who follow beacons into danger.
Of some they speak or do not tell.
I cannot be like; I am a shadow.

Deep in my mind, eyes that watch.
Other words and voices, I can hear.
I wonder at deeds both bad and good.
Of those that fall in Truth's own lair.

I like the fruit, hidden, ripens slow.
The harsh mountain, the eagle's home.
I like to feel fire, when I am low.
Strange wild love, that makes me wake.
That walks the path that I shall take.


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