WAITING
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hen I am alone I am happy.The air is cool. The sky isflecked and splashed and woundwith color. The crimson phalloiof the sassafrass leaveshang crowded before mein shoals on the heavy branches.When I reach my doorstepI am greeted bythe happy shrieks of my childrenand my heart sinks.I am crushed. Are not my children as dear to meas falling leaves ormust one become stupidto grow older?It seems much as if Sorrowhad tripped up my heels.Let us see, let us see!What did I plan to say to herwhen it should happen to meas it has happened now?
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