Someone had to do the dirty work,
spading the garden, moving mountains,
keeping the darkness out of the light,
and she took every imperfection personally.
Mr. Big Ideas, sure,
but someone had to run the numbers.
Then talk about babies: he never imagined
so many.
That was part of his charm, of course,
his frank amazement at consequences.
The pretty songs he gave the finches:
those spoke to his
innocence, his ability to regard
every moment as fresh. “Let’s give them
free will and see what happens,”
he said, ever the optimist.
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