Who is to be given these things I wish to say
Why must they be said
My patience is not selfless
I feel grief
It is mine alone
Given to freely, you can ask
I can see each filter, not touching
I can see through them
Who wants this giving
Why must some want to give
It’s easy to stop
But for that selfish patience
Its warmth touches the filters
And they begin to touch, too
Storms are shared
And currents tested
Every memory is already sedate
There is only the Earth’s curve
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