Losing the count

June 15, 2012
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One two three
And I fly
My arms are swaying
And my head is held high

Four five six
And I’m on the tire swing
My screams are shrill
And my throat is dry

Seven eight nine
And I look behind my back
The hand that rests on my shoulder
Is still intact

Ten eleven twelve
And the world seems fair
The flurry little rabbit
Not yet ensnared

And then I lose the count
Of the many times that I
Fell and never got up
Lost and defeated.

One two three
Here comes the loser
The baton twirler
Of sadness and misery

Four five six
And a couple of leaves
That get my by
That my mother never sees

Seven eight nine
And I’m up on a high
Mountain that oversees
The graying sky

Ten eleven twelve
And I look down
And for the last time
I fly.

And it is then,
That the count is lost
And ever.

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