They stuck me with daggers

Four

They stuck me well and true

In heart, liver, gut and thigh

They stuck me well, but I would not cry

They went in deep and would not stop

Until my heart finally did pop

They stuck me with daggers

four

Pinning me down to my core

But I came back over and over

Through stories told in rain and clover

For I live in all my children

Born with freckles is how you ken

Dots like stars upon their noses

A mole or two like pricks of thorn roses

I live in stories in the air

So all my children can feel me there.

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