Women’s issues become boiled down.
Not immune to us versus them mentality.
With curly locks, toys, dolls, blocks
You hold me near
I hear that beating rhythmic flow
Will never stop, never go
With braided hair, sweet embraces, garden picnics
Sun-filled yards, glistening tears
You sing to me
A song to laugh, to dance
Over scrapes, beyond shadowy fears
With growing years, a clear warm voiced song
As you hold grand little ones
I loved you then, I love you now
Moments shared have showed me how
I hear that beating rhythmic flow as you leave
As you go
You in heaven as on earth will be one to wipe away
By Jonathan McCallum
Well, I’m having fun being back at 20 Lines.
The little wingèd creatures come to view
and charm me as they clean the grounded seed.
Now winter’s gone and everything is new,
including those who wear their springtime blue.
I watch them from the deck or through the glass,
these fliers who make up this April’s class.
They come from skies that seem to toss them here,
their wings providing necessary gear.