Feather tickles on the soles of little feet,
A worn through gaze outstaring early crying eyes.
Moments for life of life-stages shared complete,
Impossible hours of love turned hate’s disguise.
Limitless seasons of care without defeat,
Yardstick measures as to whom and where it applies…
Of many, many-few are set on repeat
Reductions of a world made on fewest ties,
Under trees of blood, the shade will show deceit…
Stand no more homes ‘til the World-as-Home may rise.