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Here among the children I walk cautiously, not to be in their way; shouting is a kind of talk, running or standing, as they dare. I am not seen although my bulk is visible; I cross them where they always are, as if to balk them in their flights from there to here. A teacher gathers them, she moves and makes some gestures, the children are swept ahead like loosened leaves, and I am left suddenly then as if exiled; my spirit griees to be alone. But, ah, the sun is an acknowledgment, conceives me as inheritor, its own.

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