Wednesday came, dragging with her the footfalls of snowclouds
Inside the emptiness of a skeletal hearth, the ashes waited
Let us see the match and gather the dry and fallen soldiers that belonged to the trees
Don’t ask if the fire will be reborn, because it is never really gone
Cling to the parchment of spirit and intuition
Hold tight to the story that is your story alone and written in the stars
Iron out the wrinkles that have cluttered the fabric of your life
Light the match
Don’t look back
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