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The Chestnut Sprouts When he saw the land He knew It had to be caressed— Treated like a living thing, Loved like he loved me as a son. So, he relentlessly Piled brush in the crevices, Pruned and patted, Scolded irreverence, And scattered seeds in the soil Like he'd been put in charge of it all. After he had to go He left the charge to me, To keep watch over three Chestnut sprouts He'd set for me to grow. —James B. Goode 68 ...

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