ProposalSummer 2003 - Volume 7 Number 3 I am afraid of being poor You fear the darker nights I tense before a stranger's door You're terrified of heights
I dread the ache of lonely days You're timid in a crowd I'm phobic of a barren phase You shrink from seeming loud
I fear the future, you the now I compliments, you jeers I the why and you the how Your anger and my tears
Thy fears make me protective And mine may make you strong Though singly we're defective Combined, we'll get along. |
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