a dance in bushes beside the stream
petals and leaves and smears of green
bring dashes across the skin and clothes
red blood, bruised knees, crying of stubbed toes
is it the mark of adults to wear
marks of childhood pasts out there?
who else has bruised an arm or leg
when peaceful times and problems beg?
my daughter returned from in the trees
red blood poured out from wounded knee
she didn’t notice much of that
because she smiled wide beneath her hat.
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Frank Ormond 