Things That Make The Morning Call

The Little Flames

Fragile you, 
Blind and grey, 
Showed up once 
Then hid away. 

Saw the sun, 
Saw the sky, 
And how the sunlight 
Burned your eyes. 

Fled from the day, 
Hiding away. 

Dig so deep, 
Bury all 
The things that make 
The morning call. 

All the same 
Day will break, 
And you deny 
The sky you crave. 

Your walls are so high 
To block out the sky


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