The wheatgrass of a government flag sways -
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taut and unbroken -
with the rolling rain-front-come-gone,
straining at roots of fidelity with each slow breeze.
Somewhere in the breadbasket,
a child cries at the future planned before her -
at blowing cornfields of engineered caution -
but Good Parents have already left her with a nanny.
Her tiny, chubby hands grasp at nothing in particular as
rolling clouds pass above her.
Mother left her long ago and
she'll grow to forget.
-=[ Blank this intentional space! ]=-