We are not the voice that many want to sing out. We are loud in our delivery and sound in our straight and arrow find or not, chew it and never spit it out.
Mothers be. Mothers be of foster grow-loose-seek-and-be. But more important is the feeling that life is the "yes"where we see and deal. Deal with the "poop shoe incident," and the "i'm not hungry," and the "i'm of citizen and cool."
We are guiders of what we see as right.
Right is the first bloom of waiting for life's eternal boom.
We are not of anything more than what is of corners and bound.
Bound be swift bound be solid for the earth's candle we lick. Lick for purpose, lick for community small. Lick for one and definitely all. We are the voice that is nibble and true, we are of our children so soft and warm blooded few.
What we cud chewing mamas have been yearning for is pure kindness and might, even when it provokes a sense of yellow-eyed fright.
Glory be done. Glory be of sight and seen and plenty. This is the guide that is centered and self-true: be of what make and be of what make you.
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