Sometimes when you’ve harvested
another crop of human beings – well, you just don’t want to let them go.
You know you ought to let them have
the chance to figure out how to advance
themselves through circumstance:
to grow into whatever’s apropos. But oh! –
how sweet they feel, fresh from the farm,
next to your face, inside an arm –
like some ingratiating brace of geese.
Shame to let them out into the streets.
Wish they weren’t praying for release.
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