Away in a manger, or a car, more like,
you'll be swept away to throes of sand
( or on a wind-swept bike?),
and standing like air on the wispy coast
you'll shed all the things that
haunt you the most,
like reflections in oddly angled mirrors,
that fluctuate like fingers
over the tired years.
So take my hand, Sister, my dear,
because don't you know
that beauty may appear
elusive at times, or dead, more like;
but it will always be here,
and your soul will always glow,
prismatic and pretty, alike.
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