Little spark within my heart; I kindle and it grows
No fire yet, while fed by thought, it's there but know no one knows
The wood of practice lies all around, but I never pick it up
In theory such a simple thought, in my life an empty cup
A cold wind comes, I shiver some, but settle for a sheet
I thank people for the blankets they give, but then leave them at my feet
Never really covering myself, for fear that I might suffocate
To avoid some pain I freeze to death, and live as though I hate
- Calvin "Cheese Grits" Yerke
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