You carved our initials
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into these family trees.
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but when the branches are bare and broken,
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love is so hard to reach.
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we've learned to brace for the worst
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and to read the last pages first,
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surrender feels safe.
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maybe the soul is the soil that holds the fallen seed,
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or the light pouring down in between the rain clouds,
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daring life to reach;
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or maybe it's the rings in the trunk of the tree,
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a birthmark time will leave
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to measure the past.
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but we can't dream when we're wide awake
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or fall in love with a heart too strong to break.
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faith is expensive to taste,
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and time is borrowed loose change
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that's already been spent.
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maybe the soul is the tone of voice
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that unearthed the words that we needed...
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maybe the soul is a suitcase that holds the backup plan -
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a collection of keys and the patience we need
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to start again.
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maybe it's the thresholds that swallow us whole
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as we learn to let go,
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in spite of the dirt on our clothes.
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-----------------
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Slow & Steady
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Sleeping At Last |