They are the only ones always pouring out. I am the one who doesn’t pick on them. Five bleeding hearts with parting souls and long limbs like mine. Five who do not hide but do shine. Five colorful characters growing in the suburbs. From our thoughts we can see them, but Michael just picks and doesn’t understand the plain beauty.

Their bond is blunt. They show exotic style above the rest. They lean down and they talk down and tell the earth about their subtle fright and share the facts with gentle words and never stop their wisdom. This is how they word.

Let on reveal his struggle for living, they’d all hold like trees tied to a post, each with their minds assist the other. One, one, one hearts say when we bond. They aid.

When I am too old and too mindful to stay as one, when I am just one person along so many lives, then it is I look to hearts. When there is everything yet to look to on this land. Five who grew without prudence. Five who come and do not recall the work. Five whose only reason is to aid and tell.