Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Your Place

Daughter of mine,
you were raised:
in the pasture
below city stars
in a mud hut
in front of the jury of my peers.
I know you were brought from above
to your corner of
So no matter, stay
in your glass building, in your
bungalow tucked close:
This is not where you hang your
coat, anyway.

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