My soul needs some mending,
It’s frayed at the ends;
It’s stained with time too,
But don’t rinse too hard-
It may tear apart.
It’s wrinkled, it’s crumpled,
You say you’ll iron it out,
But can you see
The mountains, the valleys
That nestle in the folds?
The oceans, the gorges,
That gape in the creases?
No, I have given it too often,
And given it too soon,
To too many launderers
Of too many lands,
Who promised too many wonders,
And in the end did only plunder…
So let me keep it with me,
This soiled little rag,
Some things are best
Left as they are.
