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Will it cut your loss to catch her lost, or to see her mean spirit thin from
the fix sheâs in? Can you hope to make her free when to me itâs true that
you canât decide whoâs releasing who?
âHe thinks sheâll heal him in the broad daylight, my dear daughter. But
my firstborn couldnât fix a fight, my dear daughter.â
So said Dad who had something to add:
âWhy not go and ask those foes that pose as friends if theyâve ever sat
and read all the mail she never sent? Letâs not speak of this again. Itâs not
love that runs the mouths on faces that she troubles to forget but
something keeping pace with all the sentiment we sent instead. If thereâs
love for her at all, then let the matter fall. The way my life has played, I
should have seen it come. All that love a lead-up to the smallest sum,
and a sudden move to lose what is for everyone.â
See, itâs you that changed it, any way you take it! Time and again, I see
him cry on how itâs now that the dayâs gone by. Then, we could never
speak our spell; now one word cuts it and covers it well. Sweeter since
the fact perhaps, and sound to set the place weâre at, itâs the finest way to
find us; just minus what once was.
What an awful sin to stay stand-in for my sister while she thinks us fine
from what sheâs out to find. Tell her that she should come back for all her
stuff, âcause she left here with not enough. And:
âAt night Iâm sleeping half-awake, my dear daughter. âCause Iâm scared
that youâre the same mistake, my dear daughter.â
So said Dad who had something to add:
âI hope my way implies a Fatherâs love disguised. Itâs not pretty or
precise. My advice to all concerned with the turns that come with lessons
that you learn is that allâs marked down to fear. So I just canât let you go
but then I canât just hold you here.â