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A playful young fellow
Like a roller coaster
Always moving around
Quick like a squirrel
To point fingers

Like being made
Of butter
I slip out of the grabbing
Hands of trouble
I was called Butterman

Burning important
Documents into ashes
“He’s just a kid” they say.
Could not be blamed for anything
Living in Paradise

Until playtime was over
A baby calf left in the wild
Nowhere to run. Hearing the roaring of the Lion.
Living in the thorns of life
Miserable and teeth gnashing life.

Like a Cow saving its
Calf from a pit
And coming out safe from
The pit of life and
Dwelling safe in trusted hands.
 






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