When I am down on paper,
It seems there’s so much more.
When I am down on paper,
You would think that I could roar.
I remember her, through a haze.
As a memory she’s fond but distant.
I would let her go, melt away,
But life is more insistent.
It favours someone like her,
Bowing to its needs,
So I must do my best to raise her,
Though she is tangled in these weeds.
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