My little girl, Tettanysits under the oak tree every day,
counting suns,
passers-by,
to mention stars
when darkness come too soon.
She moves no limb
save for her hands
to point out those she loves the most.
She chooses the fairest,
wanted and,
most sought after,
because it is the only way to buy a dress.
Or, that is what her mother said
about little girls like Tettany
who lay so low,
not searching,
not wanting to discover what lies beneath...
the bellies of our fathers.
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