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Let us walk, then, and amble, and while away the year,
such years which liberally season
your father's once-dark hair,
as we girls progress down the farm lane
and twirl in circles without a care,
yes, let us walk a while, my darling, and make memories from this year.

I first became a parent when I cradled you in my hands,
with skin weathered by laundry
and the flow of Time's sands,
but then you gladly drag me with you
on adventures to imaginary lands,
and I'm as much a friend as parent, as you lead me by the hand.

I cannot shelter you from each raindrop, child, nor from every bee,
some dangers you must learn yourself
(although I'll be there to salve your knee),
but I would not wish for you a childhood
without forts and dirt and trees,
so shelter within your learning, love, from the storm and the bee.

Time is bounding with us, now, so fleet and swiftly by,
(with the energy of one like you,
child, who need not even try),
so we gambol along together, dear,
you chasing dandelions against blue sky,
and Time prances with us swiftly, but oh-so-sweetly, by.

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