The fingers wrapped around my wrist, oh so tight,
I realize are my own hand, my very own might.
I loosen the grip, hear music, tentatively make it,
Feel the breath of sound, venture to taste it.
No longer a sharp rasp at my throat,
no longer need for warmest, shawl, or coat,
to cover my head, shoulders, or cold, sad heart.
Let the celebration begin, I'm eager to take part.
Tushie 12/8/12
Tushie 12/8/12
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