We peel the caterpillars
from Poplar trees,
gather frozen cobwebs
this frosty morn
only eight years
old the fates
already formulated
on roads of destiny.
Rain falls across
the empty playground
childless now-
a screaming silence.
Shadows of mums and dads
stall, unrecoverable,
wasting a few more hours
a few more days.
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