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17 March 2008

Wolvendael Park


I am walking through Wolvandael Park.



I wonder, how much is me

and how much is other?



This is the park of my motherhood,

my park of conkers,

of endless hours.



And this may be the last winter

I walk through this park.



My children have grown like wildfire,

like wild flowers,

like there's no tomorrow.



Soon they will go to a new school.

So soon.

They won't need me to go with them.



How then will I ever get back

to Wolvendael Park?



Already the birds are singing.

It is early, an early spring.



After all this time I still can't tell

a blackbird's lament

from a robin's.


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