My dreams are fragile things that easily die,
Yet,
There are more of them than
Birds to fill the sky.
My hope is a fragiler thing that too easily is squelched,
Yet,
It is brighter than the
Starry, starry night.
My heart is a fragile that so easily cries,
Broken, shattered,
More than a hundred times,
Carefully pieced together every time.
My spirit is a fragile thing that is easily crushed,
Still,
It restores itself with
Your every touch.
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