For so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff, If damnéd custom have not brassed it so That it be proof and bulwark against sense.

May all our hearts remain so –
Soft and open
Uncovered, ungilded, unhardened, unencased.
May the habits, patterns and relentless difficulties of our lives not become so overwhelming
That we have to do metalwork on our hearts.
Brass. Iron. Whatever casement we might need
To keep the softness safe.
Because the trouble is – once the case has been built, it is terribly hard to pry open again.


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