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More nautilus than nightingale,
your many chambered shell
just armor for old scars.

With fishhook hands
we’d pull you back.  Into the light?
It’s hard to say.

Something
in the logarithmic spiral
of your life

kept you creating
those mirrors
of our troubled souls,

Something
kept you singing
your Bel Canto.

Sonorous the sound
that rose from sorrows,
from dreams and pain.

Your imperfections
were your splendor, and now at last
you’ve found your peace.

Your song echoes softly
as the forest wraps its arms
around you.

 

 

 

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