Out of my sorrow I'll build a stair, And every tomorrow Will climb to me there; @3With ashes of yesterday In its hair.@1 My fortune is made Of a stab in the side, My debts are paid In pennies of pride; @3Little red coins In a heart I hide.@1 The stones that I eat Are ripe for my needs, My cup is complete With the dregs of deeds; @3Clear are the notes Of my broken reeds.@1 I carry my pack Of aches and stings, Light with the lack Of all good things; @3But not on my back, Because of my wings!@1 |