He had no favorites.
He loved them all.
He would hold them in bunches and bundles
until his hands and arms were filled
Though they loved him,
they would not always go willingly
They flourished elsewhere
in other worlds
in other times
in other limbos
When they left him,
he cried for them all.
He had no favorites.
© Alfred W. Smith Jr.
Beyond Panic 
So beautiful…
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Thank you. Very glad that you liked it. I wrote it a long time ago, and never published it before now.
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Reblogged this on Beyond Panic and commented:
1980’s poetry. Enjoy.
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Nice one, my friend.
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