All of us speak our Mothers tounge.
A question has bugged me,
Like a determined bed bug.
What about the Fathers Tounge?
Every father had a mother dumbo,
He speaketh his mothers tounge.
Then what about a man's tounge?
It exists for sure,
But it speaks a strange lore.
Silent, like the flowers in bloom,
Proud like the wind cold and pruned,
It forces it self through his eyes,
You need to be a godess to hear it right,
And allow it to drip through your eyes.
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