To Be Loved
Like an eagle in butcher’s corners
Some have embraced it like sands
They are the chicks of hen mothers
Protected from the hard craws of hard beaked birds
Though all in the spherical are
Most from milk teeth are thy denied.
Hovering from every tom & harie
Looking like a raining season vulture
That petched on dry wood.
With feathers like an avian infulexa bird.
Aching of heart at moon time is thy mood.
With oceans flowing through their lids.
To be loved thy are privilege
Enjoy by the class of privilege.
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