"Why, Mommy? Why?"
Bewildered look following
"Why are there holes in His hands?"
I looked in his face
Puckered brows
His passion building
And I felt so proud
"Why do you think?"
"The holes are there, Mommy, so
His spirit can fly free. So He can
find us."
I don't know about you
But that answer
Settled in my soul
Like a thick, warm comforter
The kind only your
Grandmother could make
4 year old philosopher
Asking the questions
Tired adults
Forget to ask
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