Are seldom ever seen.
A bottle in a cabinet;
A paper in a stream.
We curl up with our TV wishes,
Can we ever find the time
To listen to ourselves and talk
Without the simple rhyme?
Would we ever know the happiness
Of just life, no tricks, no games?
Can we play the notes our mothers taught?
Will we learn to love again?
Can we sigh, unburdened by the thought
Of chemical restraint?
He who finds the heart for this
Is often deemed a saint.
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