I am a child again

On summer nights I try to hear again The sound of water sprinklers, like quiet rain, The voices of neighbors at their ancient rite, The garden hose like weary snakes in fading light. The hot, sweet scent of flowers drifts down from the hill. The cricket speaks from underneath the sill, I am a child again deep in the wide porch-bed, The night wind cool upon my face, My small prayers said.

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