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This poem appears in Autumn Leaves:

Feelings are but thought extension

Placed into feeble expression,

Sometimes poured out through touch or deed,

Or even mumbled confession.


Feelings are but emotions and desires,

Surfacing into reality,

Striving to achieve dreamed of destiny

Or to quench love’s raging fires.


Expressing them is often difficult,

Like handling fishhooks wearing gloves.

Overpowering, they sometimes help

With insistent, nudging shoves.


As one’s soul is purged by confession,

We learn a most valued lesson–

Our world would be painted shades of gray

Without our efforts at expression.

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