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Bruised little feet, up the stream, struggling,
The rocky, dry river pluckily facing,
Bitter memories, the little souls bearing,
Heinous scars,their tiny body still covering.
Around utter desolation again discovering,
In true hearts solace seeking,
A cleansing mother’s embrace wishing,
Regenerating father’s words longing.
Silent, the father, for a while, at them looking,
The wished words never uttering,
Helpless, to a little shack withdrawing,
A bleeding heart ,unobserved, dressing.
Tongue-tied, the mother, her dried eyes squeezing,
The lean, weedy girls feverishly hugging,
Glances, around now and then, furtively throwing,
A hand in her motherly chest ,resolutely, plunging.
A handful of hazelnuts to each of the two offering,
A smile on their pale faces instantly triggering,
In their pockets the precious filberts keeping,
The little menials down the stream now walking.
The mesmerizing hazelnuts once a while feeling,
Past, painful memories away fading.