For the dead wood must be fed
To the fire of transformation.
The old skin must be shed.
Never mind the pain,
Or the years of fear and doubt,
For the point of maximal suffering
Lifts the best within without.
When the wood has turned to ash
And the smoke rides on the breeze,
There you'll stand - a sapling,
Small among the trees.
Never mind the Darkness
Of the road which led astray,
For the Light will shine the brighter.
A new sun rose today.
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