They came to tell your faults to me, They named them over one by one; I laughed aloud when they were done, I knew them all so well before, -- Oh, they were blind, too blind to see Your faults had made me love you more.
How easy the breath that kills a flame, How hard to kindle that light again. Cold words kill and kind words kindle, By words withheld a dream may dwindle. --Joan Walsh Anglund
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