This reminds me of something I wanted to post at my community, but had written about too poorly in my notebook. I thought it was a lovely image, though, so I'll try again here. I was passing the seminary school on the edge of Stuyvesant Square the other day while parents and older siblings stood on the street to take the children home. I saw an older woman standing just inside the gate to the playground, bent over in a deep bow so as to shake the hand of a little girl in a pink jacket and knit cap, who was probably about seven herself. She let her gloved hand be shook loosely, and the woman looking her in the eye carefully enunciated "Good-bye Miss Poet." The girl looked toward the pair standing on the sidewalk just outside the gate, likely her mother and father, and showed her teeth in an enormous gleeful grin that pulled her teeth tight upon her jawbones. Through that smile she reaffirmed her identitiy with an enthusiasm befitting a child: "I'm a poet!"
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I was passing the seminary school on the edge of Stuyvesant Square the other day while parents and older siblings stood on the street to take the children home. I saw an older woman standing just inside the gate to the playground, bent over in a deep bow so as to shake the hand of a little girl in a pink jacket and knit cap, who was probably about seven herself. She let her gloved hand be shook loosely, and the woman looking her in the eye carefully enunciated "Good-bye Miss Poet." The girl looked toward the pair standing on the sidewalk just outside the gate, likely her mother and father, and showed her teeth in an enormous gleeful grin that pulled her teeth tight upon her jawbones. Through that smile she reaffirmed her identitiy with an enthusiasm befitting a child: "I'm a poet!"
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