I am made of two,
one old, one new,
one stone, one clay,
one walking with sure feet,
one running far away.

I am torn by two,
by what each wants to do:
they fight as if to own me.
They'll fight until one dies--
and though the elder frequently
controls my thoughts with fear,
the younger's battle cries
are clear.

Each struggle might go either way,
but since redeeming work is done,
my war's already won,

and I am longing for the day
when I am made of one.
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