The birds and the words

Words are just words

They can never be birds

And though I love them

I must let them go

Fall into the heap

Of all I’ve ceased to worship

They are the playthings

Of the thinking brain

And their value is only

What it is

But words are not

What it is

Not birds

Nor the universe

Words are a foggy mist

Suggesting the form of truth

Mere suggestions towards

That

Which lies beyond

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