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A child of the Great Depression

One who refused to claim it as her own – or mark heart

with the torment of kind that

walked before her soul –

  

It was refuge she took within the eyes of simple moments spent, without

need of nickels handed by way the fault of guilt –

Tracing the eyes of those crawling through the cloak of shame

to hold instead regard for the life that gave them sight –

 

The blanket of the age,

to history – pages would be embroidered, in the passage of time,

scripting a strength with each thread –

As the four words wrapped around her sheltering the storm,

the single verse each night that her mother read,

 

this too shall pass” my daughter,

but now help me find these children bread,

“this too shall pass” my child,

but today we must get these babies fed.

 

bkmackenzie

copyrighted 2008

 

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