Tin Children
Because she saw the sparks she asked, extending her sallow finger to the horizon before us- and behind us yet. And there, detached from our lot by more than merely space stands a man, a man alone, the governor of his own design. His furrowed palms beckon to hearts, the very hearts he meld in time, his eyes beckon to the broken; beckon to ears no longer listening. Because she saw the sparks she asked, tugging my sleeve with her tiny hand, and I answer to her feebly- the supple words of ancient dread. that man in yonder field, you know him well, he has shielded our eyes from the sun; he is father, and those destroying him, those are my tin children. GBE Written January 1st, 2002 © on Dec 31 2001 07:33 PM PST 10 • 0 • 13
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"Because she saw the sparks she asked,..."