Little Fe(a)t

Across the road, in a small gathering place, elementary children sat, in woods conjuring, fantastic worlds, beyond knowing.

While sitting on logs, heroes pretended, with protecting swords, saving the weak.

One morning, a kindergarten girl, stole in the gathering place, imagining pretended fire, occupied logs, in a summit of conversations.

Realizing her solitude, imagining hands reached, the sky dissolving in-between treetops: a confluence of man and nature.

A broken thought interrupted: Why is it so hard to tell the truth?

Trees answered, understanding, beyond a single moment, representing all moments, as witnesses of harm: nothingness is easier.

Senseless harms, let houses burn, skies smoking war, or oceans disintegrate.

The winds howl, shook branches, pointing to bystanders, with closed eyes, shielding fear, then, returning to circles, around fires, killing all things, outside the circle.

In the clearing across the road, in the small gathering place, children sit in woods, conjuring fantastic worlds beyond knowing.

Sitting on logs around a pretended fire, planning futures, pretend swords, protect damsels in distress: heroes saving the dangered weak.

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