We share the same fog,
like a blanket of warmth covering a tiny, young child
with red hair, sitting outside his house shivering,
until a nice grandmother comes to make him warm.
We feel the same hope,
like a single candle burning bright to light
the path of a tired, withered old man
who escaped from captivity to find his granddaughter.
We taste the same white goat’s milk.
like the bright glowing moon, sprinkled
with fresh maple sugar.
We hear the same crackling fires,
like the crunch of black pebbles underneath
a dark brown boot, with a sole as thick as the earth.
We smell the same water,
as clear and clean as just washed glass
of an apartment building thirteen stories high.
We wish for the same happiness,
like a plum tree blossom in early April,
with a fairy with no worries nestled inside of it.