A rough touch of fluff caresses the wounds,
full of salt, tough to halt and dried by such
a tender push grounded in love's great dunes-
the slender glimmer of bright hope, so plush...

Like a child so kind with dreams much too wild,
a young boy sings for his mama's sweet love,
a sweet girl craves her daddy's care, so mild,
and all hold with strength, that bliss from above.

Allow your face to be permeated by
a quick trace of grace and a gentle cry
of joy so coy it breaks the barriers
to block rocks of sound and love's carriers.

Reach out and grasp the warm whims of pollen.
Fall prey to the day which may take you there,
to that state of floating content and heart;
don't run from what's sent by the divine art.

Do we see that we too are lost, to be-
to be found by that angel who sees us cry-why?
Can we ever hope to go fly so high,
or to take the sharp fall and pay the fee?