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Never to be forgotten
A Children's Chorus
Every day I fetch my granddaughter,
four and a half, invariably by 5 p.m.,
at her kindergarten.
Parents waiting in the classroom door,
she suddenly grabs me by the hands and,
to the teacher and all’s astonishment,
leads her colleagues,
in all sixteen, to sing
happy birthday for me.
So, she gives me a wrapping paper folded
like a letter, in pencil written—I love you.
What more needs a man?
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