By Lake Champlain

Hilda Conkling

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I was bare as a leaf
and I felt the wind on my shoulder.
The trees laughed
When I picked up the sun in my fingers.
The wind was chasing the waves,
tangling their white curls.
"Willow trees," I said,
"O willows,
look at your lake!
Stop laughing at a little girl
Who runs past your feet in the sand!"

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