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Rated: E · Poetry · Children's · #1059117
After watching kids at the playground, trying to remember me as a child of three.
At three

And I am Three,
wide eyed and wanting to know the name for everything:
the taste of snow,
the ooze of mud,
the fragrance of well baked Summer,
the fall of leaf to gutter,
the melting flood.

What name will do for dog if not Brownie?

My hair bleaches in the sun
while I play with stones in the oily driveway,
open the gate to Mary's yard,
or go through Libby's.
What games there are will be played with blocks of wood
long before words on pages speak to me.

And I barely remember by age of Five,
what once I knew at Three.

Kåre Enga

catalogue number: [162.714]
15 januar 2006
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