When toddlers croon,
guitars, abandoned, start to hum.
When toddlers croon,
they stir the string that holds the Moon.
A throat becomes a little drum
that throbs to charm the city slum,
when toddlers croon.
Looking for people to share the written word
When toddlers croon,
guitars, abandoned, start to hum.
When toddlers croon,
they stir the string that holds the Moon.
A throat becomes a little drum
that throbs to charm the city slum,
when toddlers croon.
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WordPress educator / mad scientist / aspiring writer / autoimmune warrior / parrot and dog mom
Lovely poem. I like the refrain. 🙂
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Thank you.
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