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“Look way up there,” the cub’s mother whispers, “There’s a leaf breaking free from its branch!” “Can you say ‘leaf’?” The cub smiles, “Leaf!” He reaches out to catch the leaf But it deftly evades his grasp Winding a path down to the ground Where it stays long after the pair has left The ground hardens Frosting all the way to the edge Of a river that freezes solid Waiting for the sun With warm light water flows along the shore and around an island of green dried by the heat of long days and disoriented by curious hands “Look way down there,” the proud father whispers, “There’s a frog peeking out of the grass!” “Can you catch it?” His son smiles, “Yes!”
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