The notion held, a perfect fit,
But outward bound, a smaller bit.
The listener's take, a different knit,
The core idea, we seldom hit.
But outward bound, a smaller bit.
The listener's take, a different knit,
The core idea, we seldom hit.
Resisting what might help us move.
For fear the new will leave us bare,
We clutch the solace nestled there.
Though wisdom whispers, "Let it go,"
The tethered spirit answers, "No."
This fragile piece, this constant thing,
A shaky hope that change won't bring.
A fleeting grip on time and place.
The wild heart waits, with quiet grace,
To bloom again, in its own pace.