Monday, March 23, 2009

A Poem from Our 12-Year-Old Daughter, Maia

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Our youngest daughter, Maia, the painter, wrote this poem this afternoon and it just blew me away:

There were circles; then a square.
Squares; then a circle.
It was black; then there was white.
White; then there was black.
Most of us do not fit in.

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