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And her little feet were red with clay. And she was scooped up and carried into a red house. And it was made of brick, made of clay. And her little mouth puckered, pink and lovely. And her little mouth kissed the arm that had scooped her up, had picked her up. And the scooper smiled. And the scooper tickled. And they both laughed all the way into the house red with clay, red with brick. And the little one was set on the cool counter, red with tile. And the little legs swing back and forth, swung up and down. And the scooper scooped the swinging legs up and placed them in the sink. And the little mouth squealed with delight, squealed with life. And the water began to run. And the water made trails of red from the feet, red from the clay. And the scooper scrubbed with soap, scrubbed with hands. And her little feet were no longer red with clay. And she was scooped up and carried up the steps, up the stairs. And the scooper placed her on red sheets, under cool sheets. And the little one closed her eyes. And the scooper kissed her face, kissed her eyes. And she drifted into sleep. And she dreamed of little feet that were red with clay, red with clay.





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