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The Dust Child | A Poem by JD DeHart

The child rolled in the dust
with the old dog, imagining
that the world loved him,
that this small family
property was the universe.
Madness was a rarity.
Children dance more readily,
show and tell more freely,
while adults walk around,
clutching their wounds
and guarding their secret
worlds, appendages tucked
under to escape the winter.

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