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She came to me one morning, one lonely Sunday morning,
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her long hair flowing in the mid-winter wind.
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I know not how she found me, for in darkness I was walking,
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and destruction lay around me from a fight I could not win.
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She asked me name my foe then. I said the need within some men
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to fight and kill their brothers without thought of men or god.
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And I begged her give me horses to trample down my enemies,
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so eager was my passion to devour this waste of life.
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But she would not think of battle that reduces men to animals,
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so easy to begin and yet impossible to end.
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For she the mother of all men had counciled me so wisely that
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I feared to walk alone again and asked if she would stay.
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"Oh lady lend your hand," I cried, "Oh let me rest here at your side."
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"Have faith and trust in me," she said and filled my heart with life.
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There is no strength in numbers. I've no such misconceptions.
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But when you need me be assured I won't be far away.
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Thus having spoke she turned away and though I found no words to say
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I stood and watched until I saw her black cloak disappear.
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My labor is no easier, but now I know I'm not alone.
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I find new heart each time I think upon that windy day.
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And if one day she comes to you drink deeply from her words so wise.
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Take courage from her as your prize and say hello for me
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