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LOST GaRdeN

 

do you have a golden garden? full of the flowers grandchildren love to gather, or, when the gold has gone to seed, the youngsters blow to watch the gossamer flight of tiny white puffs against blue sky and light.

 

How as we lose this child-rich joy and come to curse the weeds, to poison and kill. They are too common for our special salads. Our hearts no longer dance with dandelions, no more see golden flowers of the field, but are still.

 

back to prose, JSN

 

 

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