Posted in Life, love, Poetry

All The Little Children

Small and mighty

A mother holds a newborn baby’s feet in her hands.
See above photo credits

This poem was originally posted on Medium. Original posting


The product of a love that will never die.

Note how easy they are to overlook.

Strong but fragile, resilient but breakable.

The seeds of your heart left to run wild.

Let them, before the wildness is banished.

Rearing is much easier when you threaten the unavoidable.

Mothers know that endless loss is the only criteria for parenting.

Fathers know the love will always be unrequited.

And all the parents learned about the small, devastating hours.

Spent wiping tears while spilling them in synchronicity.

Parental allusion for their little people is completely fictitious.

We are all blind to the truths.

Doomed only seeing the love they carry away from our hearts.

As they beat outside of us.


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Author:

Real Estate Agent, Landlord, Micro-Investor and Finance Specialist. Enjoys sarcasm, wit, wine and writing. Dogs are the answer to everything.

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