Have you got a thorn in heart,
Where the wind softly blows,
And shadows tremble so
And a faint laughter softly repose.
And nobody knows, till the tears flows,
That any thorn is there;
And yet the birds of pain
Are daily drunken there.
Then look out for growing garden without spring,
When the rain of joy never flow,
And the winds come hurrying from the hills,
And the night's sleep often go.
And later, when dead memories haunt sleep,
When the screams silence sweep,
Beware, lest this little thorn in heart
Someday as a knife go so deep!
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