The winter ant"s trembling wingsWait for lean winter to end.I love you in slow, clumsy way,Hardly speaking, only a word or two.What causes us to hide our lives?A wound, wind, a word, a origin.We sometimes wait in a helpless way,Awkwardly, not all nor healed.When we hide the wound, we start from a personRetreat into a shell of life.Now we touch the ant"s hard chest,That back a. The silent tongue.This must be the way of the ant.In the way of the ants in the winter, thoseThe way to be hurt and want to live:Breathe, feel the others, and wait.
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