F is for

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.

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