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LITTLE WOODEN BLOCKS

 

You pile the little blocks
Of your early life
Making them tall
Before they fall

You dream a design
You think it will be fine
Trying is the thing
When you fumble
Then they tumble
You laugh and try again

Later, the blocks
Are people and situations
Loves and infatuations
The blocks of life
Can hurt when they fall
Yet, you get up, stand tall

later you tire
at the falling of your spire
So, you start to build a wall
Wide and sturdy
So it will not fall
It is comfortable and quiet
behind that wall
There, you learn reading
Instead of bleeding
In a pile of sharp corners

It is pleasing to become
The tortoise and
Not the hare
No need to decry
The maddening crowd
Let them fry

An island you have become
A rock that never cries
Easy to believe the lies
That quel your cries

Then, one day you wake
Your role in life to take
Not an architect, you,
But a builder of dreams

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