Poetry Progeria

Small and 7, curious of the world innocuously searching for answers
Bilabial and nasal stops endeavoring speech
Syntax still unripe, Mother deciphering my guileless Morse code
A premature Bill Bojangles I dance to entertain, kin laugh in amusement

But patriarch absent, view of mankind altered.
The neurotic pang matures me in haste, Old Boy I become.
Like Lao Tzu I too am a poet

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