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I'm a child again In my father's garden, And wherever I stand I can reach the farthest bed With the hose in my hand. Wading the rows, I drench each plant, Flooding the island of raspberries, The ring of onions round the rose. The sunflower that's reached my waist Is a green lion for all its mane. And when I turn a soft bell of silver On the seedlings at my feet, Their bow of thanks is all The blessing that I need. A pair of hummingbirds come for breakfast here. I've made friends with the male. The nectar-sipper hovers a foot and a half away, Dipping his tiny feet in the spray. He shows his bright throat-even turns his back- So total is the trust. And if I'm lucky, at dusk Deer will leave the dry highlands And stamp down the lichened hill. Last night, a young buck surprised me. Descending through the red madronas, He didn't stop at the pond like the others, But stepped right up to the gate; Nor did he shy when I neared. Pretending to browse then, He nibbled at an alder And dropped his head to the clover. But I knew he'd come to see me.
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