Till nothing's hot
excuse me if I don't stir the pot
let it all burn till nothing's hot
and the fire that started it all
is dead
there is no room for listening ears
it is all filled up with anxiety's tears
only patience can withstand the cold
that follows
we have no time
we must hurry and stop
that we may go again
even sooner still
and warm our hands
beside the fire
©scott garrette 2009
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