Sunday, February 27, 2011

Auntie Aim

Golden tendrils on her shoulder
no rhyme, no reason, just getting older
her half-pint work of exhaltation
now serves as mere constant frustration.
I hold a book to my chest,
wondering how much time to invest.
Should I help her get her daughter to sleep-
for sure our friendship that will reep.
I will only be stepping on toes.
and this is how the childless thinking goes.
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