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Legacy

By Willa allen Frink / May 13, 1980



When I was your child, we counted redwing blackbirds on country fences. When I was your child, we numbered trilliums under fallen oak leaves. When I was your child, we dropped pebbles into spring-choked creeks. Spring came this year. Blackbirds and trilliums are counted, pebbles dropped with endless rings, And I am still your child.

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