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In Bloom

If my memory serves me correctly, this was written quite a few years before I had children of my own.

Little Tommy Littlefield
Who hides behind the cyan shield
Clings to fleshy walls inside
The symbol of his mother’s pride

Longer, longer, as it seems
On and on, the oil steams
“Is it over, is it done”
“Have I finally gained a son?”
Rambling on the father goes
Pacing through the lobby rows

Through the double doors we see
That underneath the canopy
Tommy surely did concede
Through the struggle he was freed
And as he slowly gained his sight
Tommy saw the silver light

This entry was posted on Saturday, September 25th, 2010 at 11:24 pm and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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