pretense from the far side
our father who art in poetry
hallowed be thy (perplexing) rhyme
or so the thoughts of dementia do flow
despite seeing nothing in return
you continue to spread the spoken word
if only to yourself
why do most everyone agree the little ones
grow up too fast
(and not do anything about it)
whether they be shining bright
or falling into obscurity
and then there are those
perhaps fortunate
(or perhaps not)
having gained admission on the far side
one metered step at a time
march two thousand seventeen
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