THE FIELDS SHE
WILL CROSS
with these small steps will change her
wee world; a vast expanse awaits her:
there are fields of raw beauty and joy
where flowers seek her to gather them.
But there will be other meadows she
must not cross: her dainty restless feet
will find mud, all the muck and mire
of a spoiled world, some dark places
I pray she will never ever take without
this old man building her clean bridges
she could run through to find her home,
a bright and happy heart, and all that
have been wished for her by all those
who love her, who cherish her quiet,
shining promise, a silence she has yet
to break, her gait a jig she has yet to dance.
---Albert B. Casuga
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