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Untitled Poem
Natasha Mazerolle /  Sat, 15 Jan 2022

Two cradles, alike in size and shape

Made just before it was too late

One wooden, built of a solemn stump alone

The other made of hard, cold stone

The cradles unbearable and stiff,

The children may sleep only if

Those who love them give

Love and say they’ll try their best to help them live

For the early years bring bruises that threaten to never heal

But something soft and supporting brings a kinder feel