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Now my ladder is gone,
So I must lie down where all the ladders start,
In the foul rags,
In the bone shop that is my heart.
It will surely get better, I reassure my self,
As I sit by the tracks, picking up the shards,
Of the broken mirror, that was once my heart.

The sun shines,but the flowers wither,
I sit by my window peering at the valley yonder,
Valleys of pixie clad dust and quaint feathers,
It will surely get better ,I reassure myself,
As I sit, trying to mend the torn shreds of rag,
The rag, that was once a beautiful weave,
A beautiful weave, that was once my heart.

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