The Glass Sandwich by Tomas Veres - HTML preview

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Occasional collide, importunate butterflies,

Occasional falls, accompanying the way through paradise,

Lifting hands amidst sharp trees,

Clenching lips when looking at bloody knees,

Hiding tears, warriors don‘t cry,

Maybe the reason why deserts are dry,

My own shield, reflecting stabbing fear,

When no one loving is here.