Harm

Then there is this feeling
That the sword will fall
And cut my heart my head
In twain again and I
Roll.  It is strange that they all
Have gone and I am
Left here alone to face the
Enormity of future with
My two eyes.  I am
Unfit for more crisis for more
Dying.  Surely this
Small green shoot I
Planted in this place can
Rise and live, raise its
Lovely head and not fear
The weather will bring it
Nothing but harm.

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