Do not cry, my child
We find ourselves
Running across
Mine fields,
Throwing our bodies
Against high wired fences
And bleeding out the victory
We so dearly deserve
But you,
And I,
We will dine on the table of
Chutzpah
And only glance
At the vertex of ignorance
Because you and I,
We are fighters who
Have never thrown a fist
In our lives
But we still run without moving
So that one day
The hay underneath our feet
Will be a blanket of grass.
So do not cry, dear child,
For it will only suffice
You for this one
Moment of time,
And soon,
We will snatch the fog
And find
The air.
