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Freedom
November 20, 2010
I look into my father's eyes
for the hope that never sways,
feel the dirt between my toes,
and hope life is always this way.
Pluckable fruits are everywhere
and I know I'll never forget this day.
Birds soar overhead so fast;
the loud chirping fades away.
"Welcome to America,"
the rustling branches seem to say.
© Pooja B., Naperville, IL
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