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Saturday, March 3, 2012



My silent sugar plum,
coatless timid terebinth,
ambrosial choice spice.  
A delicate tender lily
unaware of her
hidden green youth.
You've become quite a
towering Cedar tree.
Anchored and sightly,
while others under your
wing, your shoulder.
Deeply seated, rooted firmly
upon the earth.
The fullness of every
shadow is beneath you.
Surely I remember
the day you returned
home.  Standing in
the kitchen garbed
in militant green
Stoic and sullen faced.
You were my lamb to admonish,
wild and woolly haired
child.  My daughter.
Its hard to imagine  My once tulip,
Snow white,  now with malignant
attitude and M-16, the
insurgent metal-laden.
A lily who prefers the battlefield.
Leviathan, with an appetite
for belligerence and blood.
But you'll always
be my little sugarplum.

Sunday whirl prompt for wordle #46

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