As a child it was powdered, lumpy
tempted, thirsty as all are.
Powder is not power, missing tips.
Except in school, just for a nickle
pooled, three straws in a pint.
Eye to eye, hurridly, quickly the well
is dry.
Mothers are warm, loving, sharing.
God mothers, to adopt are to loves,
even fresher, is one rose at sunrise.
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