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Saturday, November 17, 2012


Wer’st I a child born of silver hair
lying on a pillar posted bed
stuffed animals larger than myself
and still much room to spare

Wer’st I a child whose parents care
never raise to me their hand or voice
in the midst of other portentous noise
they’d shelter me in an embracing lair

Wer’st my days not filled with laughter
When we’d walk hand in hand
Through wilderness and sun scape flora
and such fondness ever after

Wer’st this be true my tears my heart
would not labor nor my longings be alone
then love and me
would not be so far apart