Thy Tiny Fingers

Thee fingers, hold thy finger,

Upon love’s livelong journey.

Thee wails amid an umbilical chord,

Separates mother’s womb ‘n born child.

That sets a baby adrift time traversals,

Where in each stage, bears Poet Tree

Bud blossoms, sprouting forth futures,

Where adolescents, do branch, onto adults.

The pollination of humanity, must bare fruit.

Where tiny fingers, grasp dye, first breath gasp.

Where Civilization Wills, record unique voyages

Therein each new leaf, knowledge Will expand.

Little fingers, do grasp, thee quill, to feather living,

In lucid expressions, writing universal understanding.

Surroundings that encompass master Literature feats.

Alight HeArtBeats, bonding compassionate, novel love.  

Oh, babe of rhyme, dew kiss this world, with thee words.

Oh, child of God, write thy vibrant wings, amidst spry miracles.

Wherein each of US, We furrow little fingers, To Be fully grown.

To envelope vivacious vocabulary, a lust contagious germination.

Alas, dye poet’s fingers have wrinkled skeleton peace pieces.

Where live stains, age mark lifelines, amongst senior’s ring bark.

Oh God, pry little fingers, who must write accomplished acclamation,

Seniority that rips alive, before die final RIP death, weathers fingers gone.