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To the Unburned Daughter
If the bird sings for you, if the fire Leaps, child; if the bright fish Dazzles through window-pane ice, Smash the glass. Speckled brown And sound, let it swim Lithe into curled fingers. -Ice burns and fire licks. O mother, my hands are burning, burning - But if the fish leaps, if the fire Freezes, daughter, and the bird sings, Unlock silver lutes in your throat: Sing. Sing yes to the morning.