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Quintessential gift

An Ohio Sunday afternoon when you came to the side door over and over and knocked, one, the other, or all of you, bothered me to come again and take the armloads of dandelions you had gathered, to ''ah!'' again at another ''Happy Mother's Day'' is the gift I still have now you are grown. Those golden bouquets wilted before you reached the door, their fragrance was not destined to be bottled, but the scent and image of the gift lingers, laughs lightly on Sunday afternoon air.

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