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THECHAMPAFLOWER
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SupposingIbecameachampaflower,justforfun,andgrewhupthattree,andshookihlaughterahenewlybuddedleaves,wouldyoukher?
Youwouldcall,“Baby,whereareyou?”
andIshouldlaughtomyselfaequiet.
Ishouldslylyopealsandwatchyouatyourwork.
&eryourbath,withreadonyourshoulders,youwalkedthroughtheshadowofthechampatreetothelittlecourtwhereyousayyourprayers,youwouldoftheflower,butnotknowthatite.
&hemiddaymealyousatatthewindRamayana,aree’sshadowfelloveryourhairandyourlap,Ishouldflileshadowontothepageofyourbook,justwherey.
Butwouldyouguessthatitwasthetinyshadowofyourlittlechild?
&heevenihecowshedwiththelightedlampinyourhand,Ishouldsuddenlydropohagainandbeyourownbabyoncemore,aotellmeastory.
“Wherehaveyoubeen,younaughtychild?”
“Iwon’ttellyou,mother.”
That’swhatyouandIwouldsaythen.
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