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Sep 30
They are ours.

The still small, smiling, crying
laughing, angered, forever hungry
Except for when its time to eat
Children.

Your children from your hips
My children from my *****

The answered prayers.
That flit to and fro
Fast and slow.
The sleepless nights
And late mornings
And causes of worry
And constant delight

We made those.
Tafuta Atarashī
Written by
Tafuta Atarashī  28/M/Chicago
(28/M/Chicago)   
198
 
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