the neighbor
with her baby bump
is bright
with joy. the first born
now five no
longer crib or stroller
bound
but in ribbons
and dresses.
a small flower
in the winter sun.
they
walk as one
towards
the pathway that winds
between
the houses, into
the grey woods.
so quick
we take their hands,
then let go.
letting them find their
own path,
as it should be.
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