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While waiting for her invitation
To The Mothering Squad
She dreams a little, and lives a little more.

She’s growing a heart so open
Love shines on through a granite mist
Digging out the darkness,
The despair that makes her sick.

She’s kneading early passions
To a strong and potent state
And devouring life’s temptations
Before she procreates.

She’s reading like a wildfire
With flames of curiosity
And running like a panther
Raw and wild and free.

She’s listening to her body
Her energy, her beat
So she can understand
Make strong, respect, replete.

And if the invitation never comes
Remains unwritten, gets waylaid
She’ll mourn a little, then live a little more.


Filed under: Poetry

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