my "little" sister, Shell is Fifty-two!

Shell’s Fifty Two!  -  years old,  that is-

or should we instead say: “years young”?

Years are worth counting, for fact is

we’re not here forever, among..

..among all this turmoil and strife,

among all this wisdom, & sin,

among all this beauty & life,

among mis-(&)understanding.

She’s settling herself in broken-

-down worlds, fam'lies, bodies as well,

knowing this world is a token;

-beginning of heaven or hell!

Sometimes she needs that special grace

to love when the pain is too much.

Sometimes the smile on her bright face

covers aches which will not be brushed..

..brushed aside quickly, forgotten;

they must be acknowledged as such,

yet let the life that’s not rotten

lend strength, though may be as a crutch.

If this whole life is a womb-world

(it kind of makes sense that the child’s

reflexes are a flag unfurled

and show the way forward through wilds)

and one day we might be yet bourn

to a world where we must breathe air,

where goodness we long for was spawned,

I’d love to share youth with Shell there.