My son.
My little boy.
There is some dirt
here
on your ear.
You need
your hair trimmed
my precious one.
ohhhh ohhhh
Oh my little boy.
They tell me
it is best
if I don’t pick you
up
and hold you.
That … that …
I see now.
My
little
little
boy.
Another massacre in Gaza yesterday. The rip, the tear, in the heavens drips with the tears and the blood of The Mother. All mothers. And all fathers. And there will be a price to pay for our sins. Never ever doubt that … if God resides in us then we surly have failed them.
'...my little boy...there is dirt on your ear'