Song Making

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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My heart cried like a beaten child Ceaselessly all night long; I had to take my own cries And thread them into a song. One was a cry at black midnight And one when the first cock crew, My heart was like a beaten child, But no one ever knew. Life, you have put me in your debt And I must serve you long, But oh, the debt is terrible That must be paid in song.

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