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Location: United States

Monday, May 08, 2006

My Own Child

I Did not plant you, True. But when The season is done - When the alternate Prayers for sun And for rain Are counted- When the pain Of weeding And the pride Of watching Are through-
Then I will hold you High, A shining sheaf Above the thousand Seeds grown wild.
Not my planting, But by heaven My harvest - My own child.


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