Woe to all the growing things, the leafy, tall, blowing things.

Woe to water flowing things, rapid, never slowing things.

Woe to all the knowing things, smart, ever-owning things.

Woe to all the moaning things, shattered, broken, boney things.

Woe to all the lonely things, frozen hearted, stony things.

Woe to every groaning thing, weak, despereate, loathing things.

Woe to all the holy things, the paper thin, and folding things.

Woe for all the only things, I have left are lowly things.

Woe for all these woefull things, these all-I-have-to-hold-me things.

Woe to me and all my things, My goals, my dreams, my golden things.

Woe for all that's left of me, is fire in love with everything


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