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These are the things I know.

Stone and Fire


Stone shivers in its coldness.
Stone shies from its hardness.
Stone reels from the sobriety
of just being a stone,
and whispers, in stone,
to the other stone

"Stone, are you awake?"


Fire, discovered, cowers from the light.
Fire shrinks from my hand-cradle stroke.
Fire sticks where it is; blenches at my abrasiveness.

I draw near, stroke Fire gently, gently.
A fire warming spark rattles out just
spits at my finger ends.
Fire smothers its rage and recoils to black

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