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This poem appeared in the October 1995 issue of M.E.N. Magazine

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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.

Frederic Sibley

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