clasp these things gently,
to thy breast.
my love, my little love,
hold them gently.
tho' seldom will they bite.

feed them,
hopeful crumbs
and tidbits
of delighted joy.

do not neglect
them,
do not yet,
let them go
they are still to young,
to fledge and fly.

this world is a place
of broken things.

these dreams you have,
are the chaotic butterfly wings that will flap and flutter and bring despots down

not yet, little one,
but when you
are tall
then my child
let them
fly one day,
in  sunshine's
wonderous thrall

for now,
my little love,
treat them kindly
clasp them gently
to thy breast
and do your best,
my child,
to  ignore, the random
snows of  barren, hopelessness
as  they fall.