Every morning she awakes in a one-room shack,

feet on her back, and shares her scraps with six others.

The sun-born haze imprints a stillness,

that rests on the backdrop of the hills.

And throughout her three mile journey to class,

a sense of uncertainty forces her to another path,

guided by the desolate hopes of a thousand strangers.

With her feet blackened by travel, callused by earth,

she evades the distant wailing of gunfire whispering in her ear.

Like the murmur of an unwanted son invading the loins of a child.

She is one of many deer grazing the arid fields of inopportune prosperity and strife.

Let the passing of propagation fathom entitlement. To share all with all.

Only then, can she find true adequacy



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