I Speak Through My Soul To Yours
Precious little fawn;
How you touch my very soul;
Step not onto that deadly asphalt.
Wicked is the chemical asphalt;
Go back, into the woods, tiny fawn.
You are such a precious soul.
From my soul to your bright soul;
Humans have created that lethal asphalt;
Return and celebrate your family, little fawn.
I always speak to fawns with my soul;
Their enemy, is the interstate’s asphalt.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2017
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