we all hear the <br />sounds of the stamps <br />of your children <br />traveling on foot <br />from the wombs <br />of their mothers <br /> <br />they are all gone now. <br /> <br />we shall kiss the lips <br />of the flowers <br />of the umbilical cords <br />that set them free<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tramped/
