Sunday, February 10, 2008

Moons Rimmed in Walnuts

Stack your babies tightly; it allays their fears about the corduroy road ahead.
Bumps are certain, so be adamant about how you uncoil the hour.
They expect warm moons rimmed in walnuts, you know the day is more serpentine.

The duty of family is to handle life like a vintage harvest;
days brim with opportunity often missed, but always kindled – keep the coal alive.
Stack your babies tightly; it allays their fears about the corduroy road ahead.

The bounty of brave parents, what fills sparse blue nights, and brightens pinched faces
is the picnic of stories after a lean meal. How papa unfolds each mind behind blue eyes.
They expect warm moons rimmed in walnuts, he knows the day is more serpentine.

If only we had centuries to grow a family, like the Oregon Coast; trusting
the liquid space between strong siblings, and danger just a splashing surf.
Stack your babies tightly; it allays their fears about the corduroy road ahead.

But the sky in not a tin roof and fog lets in the rain. Every mother knows
that years unfurl faster than a vanishing shoreline and hungry babies cry.
They expect warm moons rimmed in walnuts, she knows the day is more serpentine.

With bumps so certain and opportunity taking flight, what handy script
can rescue us from a lemming race to the river; where is our raft upon the sea?
Stack your babies tightly; it allays their fears about the corduroy road ahead.
They expect warm moons rimmed in walnuts, you know the day is more serpentine.

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