Try, try, try,

she held her worn self,

lying on her side,

aiming for respite,

but never fully resting,

as if she were an octopus,

tentacles always spooling out,

searching.

 

Extreme weather might help–

the crunch of boots on snow

and the bite of cold

could bring her back

to sit at the warm hearth

of her own company.

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