The Seamstress
I turn my spirit inside out
And let the March wind, blowing free,
Shake wide the creases boisterously
And scatter scraps and crumbs of doubt:
A spirit worn and full of holes,
With many a seam and many a patch
Of stuffs ill set that do not match. —
Oh, seamstress, who shall mend our souls?
And let the March wind, blowing free,
Shake wide the creases boisterously
And scatter scraps and crumbs of doubt:
A spirit worn and full of holes,
With many a seam and many a patch
Of stuffs ill set that do not match. —
Oh, seamstress, who shall mend our souls?
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