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25 FIRST FLIGHT Once when I was little and played on the hill, One wondrous evening, I dream of it still— Mom called me to dinner, impatient, I knew— So I lifted my arms up and flapped them and flew. I lifted my arms and flapped them, and, lo! I was flying as fast as my short legs could go. The hill swirled beneath me, all foggy and green; I lit by the yard fence, and no one had seen. I told them at dinner, I said, “I can fly.” They laughed, not believing. I started to cry And ran from the table, and sobbed, “It is true— You need not believe me: I flapped and I flew.” I told them next morning; I told them again— For years I kept telling: they laughed and I ran— No one would believe me; I ceased then to tell; But still I remember, remember it well— One soft summer evening up there on the knoll, Before life had harried the reach of my soul, I stood there in twilight, in childlight, and dew— And I lifted my arms and flapped them and flew! ...

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