The Flower of Nature and God intertwined,
The stem of her peace ‘of the masculine thorned.
The war’s none of savvy against master minds.
It’s one of protrusion’s dysfunctional kinds.
Dear daughter of mine, had we all been forewarned
Would your freedom in safety be better defined?

I know not Islam, yet were I to believe
That kids in their twenties killing others their age
Has something at all to do with you
My faith in religion would unravel anew.
You are sacred, young one – my heart’s silent rampage…
Your heart filled with wonder where grace doth conceive

My religion is cool… My back yard’s somewhat safe
But assault on your pureness of point of view
Sends a hellish cold chill up my spine as well.
Were my own teen distressed, in my heart she doth dwell
And, I’d much rather learn about Islam from you
Than from elders or young men embroiled in chafe.