Bless me father ....
As a little one I yearned for
a gentle hand to cup my head,
brush my cheek with parchment
fingertips, to turn when I did, on
small feet, hurry toward, to smile
at my back when I left ..free then
to cross the threshold and nibble
the delights from the plate of the day -
sighing deep relief safe under the count-
less protection of the bless soaking my
fledgling soul
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