And, in the face of every storm,
My courage disappears,
And I assume a quaking form
Beset by doubts and fears.

I feel myself to be a flame
The wind and rain would quench,
And so I busy in the aim
Of digging me a trench.

And, in its depths, I hide away
Until each storm abates
And live to quake another day,
Yet that’s what truly grates.

Although, in truth, I’m free as free,
Try telling that to little me.

Photo by Egor Yakushkin on Unsplash

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