Last night I walked home in the freezing cold,
one of those bitter nights that bites the skin,
there wasn't anything pleasant about it.
To keep my thoughts from my aching ears
I imagined a sunlit meadow
with row after row of golden poppies
and soft music from a trickling stream,
This image brought forth curious warmth within.
I realized then,
the spirit feels not what the senses tell
but rather the mind's own stubborn will.
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