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On spilt milk
Well, the milk is spilt and what shall we do, what is the use, what is the use? I heard that old cup of despair call out mixed with the tears and the wails of that old cup of self-pity cut through by the cutting words of blame, angry agressive accusations of that old cup of self-criticism. I heard nothing from that old cup of silence, waiting in the corner hoping not to be seen. And quietly that fifth old cup spoke curiocity and compassion and sought to examine the misstep, sought to learn from the spilt milk.
Five of Cups
