Terry Wiens


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The Spiritual Warrior

I sit here quietly under the dark night skies,
My face is warmed by the tears from my eyes,
The glitter of stars so distant and cold,
Not unlike the love I would hold,
The night air around me is crisp and clean,
The irony of love to my soul is so mean.

I must be strong I am always told,
I’ll use up my strength before I get old,

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