the little airplanes of the heart/
with their brave little propellers/
what can they do/
against the winds of darkness/
even as butterflies are beaten back/
by hurricanes/
yet do not die/
They lie in wait wherever/
they can hide and hang/
their fine wings folded/
and when the killer-wind dies/
they flutter forth again/
into the new-blown light/
live as leaves/
~lawrence ferlinghetti
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