And it has silenced my will; the varied
Snidings, the holdings, the chidings
Ring clear in my conscience. I shut my eyes
As nary a wind blows, I slow down,
I determine as I warm up to the glow.
The voice has suffered, it has felt cold,
And snaring, and glaring and I light a flame
To warm the skin that enfolds it, and give
It a blanket to snuggle in; I share with the
Voice many coloured tales and it soothes
With all my soupy flares. I give it a brush
Of my touch as I pick up pace; the voice
That once blared now has the faith of love.
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