My heart is a broken stone.
I stand in a circle of broken stones.
My children dance on broken stones
and love me still.
The sun sets on a field of fragments,
a landscape cracked and torn.
The early dawn is broken already.
Their skin is like the petals of a flower.
I cannot keep them unmarred.
My soul is petrified. I am unclean.
The skin of my hands, dry with chalk,
and blistered.
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