There’s no rush quite like the sugar rush,
The pool of craving almost goes to my head,
But my feet are too little and my pockets are to empty,
I’m poking my little head in the window,
Endless supply of pies, cinnamon rolls with bows,
My father beckons me to follow him, but he doesn’t go inside,
My head drops low,
He sees this, picks me up and sings me a song,
His singing is terribly off-key, but I am smiling wide,
I smile wider and wider until I remember I was just being distracted
But that is just like my father, turning nothing into something,
I’m dazed, falling right to sleep in his arms…
Nessa 🖤
AFRO387 