Speak
Though there's nothing to say
When the door has opened
At the wind's prompting
And swings on its hinges
Without least concern
For whatever shall cross
The threshold
There's always
A twinge or two
As you begin to relax
In the precinct of knowledge
That resides within
Your ligaments
And bones
Tease forth the butterfly
That's perched on your lap
And let it settle gently on
The golden flower that
Blossoms unbidden
Now waking and sleeping
Both trend the same way
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