no need to warn away from the cold rocks
those who believe no purpose can be pure
except our kind those chosen to endure
unlovely meetings of the darker flocks
facing the one who out of anger mocks
informing each that they cannot be sure
but must discover for themselves a cure
with force of tiger and cunning of fox
not in the night but when the sun is low
do the flies gather to consume your heart
just when you need it now you may require
some sort of impulse as a means to show
all who may follow that the form of art
is what survives even the hottest fire
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