you
are
so
much
more
than
the
wobbly
tracing
of a small hand
crayoned with an autumn rainbow
of brown, yellow, black, and white:
in the feathers of true life
you are iridescent
copper and bronze
shimmers shifting
under the setting sun
much taller
than a child's
hand and
stoically stubborn
taking your own
grand time
crossing ever so
slowly slowly
this sun spattered
back road
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