scratch my weary backs till it bleeds
I am worn from bending over
in your eyes are my mural's needs
a bend in the pane, a stroke of color
you tread with me tirelessly
even as I tread the yellow woodland
eyes boring into my heart's intent
each lake, each path, each high ground
I am renewed from your ruthless care
I have bled and healed over
flowers and nectars I can now dare-
wear as my soul's cover
but I fear what fate has made of you
your palms weary and torn
no longer feels the touch of dew
while a new rage in you is reborn.
DAP...
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