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To be loving.
Young and lucky,
What about unlucky children
Forever searching for fathers,
Yearning to gain experience.
Little they ask for, wanting Only.
Praying nightly to be lucky
Some fathers are not loving.
Every naive birthday candle was blown for a father, loving.
Every white dandelion was a hope to be like the children
The children who were born kings, innate with lucky.
Peers pranced with pride parading their fathers,
Not knowing the shameful curse that drowned Only.
Not knowing the gift it is, simply to experience.
Research and determination led a battle, the battle for experience.
Wounded through the journey, fighting monsters, most un-loving.
Years of pilgrimage, lined with courage, led to the missing Only.
Belief begged for time, time to feel the triumph, triumph of children.
Could it ever be possible to glimpse upon the life that grows with fathers?
Tragedy, inevitable, proved that heroes do not always win battles, unlucky.
But loss does not mean only tears. This loss was chosen, determined to stay lucky.
Not every soul shares the same fate. Not every soul shares the same experience.
Only couldn’t bear to look at Warrior without a spell to hide the truth. Only was not like fathers.
Homeward bound. There were always people who cared. Always people who were loving
Epiphany as Warrior saw the truth. It is not only mothers and fathers who love children.
The absence of father makes for stronger, the absence of father is not only.