Don’t wait for the wind to tire
The tides to stop yawning
Or the world to yield.
There are storms that clash,
That strain your ears and
Tighten the strings on your heart.
There are times you’ve lost
Where exactly you sleep at night.
There are times your white hare
Will wonder if it is worth risking
Its pure white fur
For the freedom of sniffing the air.
See
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