The light grows dimmer,
and all my soul can do is simmer,
because I wanted this my way.
A thousand souls to stay,
to show me I mean something.
Without them I mean nothing.
A thousand days to play.
Without them I will fray
into a thousand scattered fragments,
unless these all were just my figments
of meaning and value that lie elsewhere—
in the voice of the wind as I sit in my chair,
in the flowers that grow from my soul each day,
in finding that this Love was truly my way.
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