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Loving our kids

I’d wrap my arms around you
and sing in your ear
a song about a frog
dancing in a pool. I’d play
my guitar to you, my fingers
small frogs dancing on the strings,
the strings become the legs of a cicada
strumming against a brown shell body,
the hollow body of the guitar
become a conch shell, a drum beat,
carrying this song from hill to hill,
telling of cicadas
dancing in hot sun,
a shell and a drum
and my arms around you
holding you as safe
as a frog inside a guitar.


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