Poor little boy

Poor Little Boys grow up as Giants who walk this earth


Day after day up there beating my wings with all the softness truth requires I feel them shrug whenever I pause:

They class my voice among tentative things,

And they credit fact, force, battering.

I dance my way toward the family of knowing, embracing stray error as a long-lost boy and bringing him home with my fluttering.

Every quick feather asserts a just claim; it bites like a saw into white pine.

I communicate right, but explain to the dean, well,

Right has a long and intricate name.

By Wisdom Kindness

Life is like a bunch of roses. Some sparkle like raindrops. Some fade when there's no sun. Some just fade away in time. Some dance in many colors. Some drop with hanging wings. Some make you fall in love. The beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Life you can be sure of, you will not get out ALIVE.(sorry about that)

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