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"They think because I sew and bake
And sweep a white pine floor,
I never think of winding roads
Somewhere beyond my door!
They think me deaf to messages
Of winds in trees that bend
And sway in sheer abandonment,
While all I do is mend!
'Tis true, my body dwells at home
While a white shoreline calls
The roving heart and soul of me
Beyond these humble walls!
And so I sing and bake my bread
And baste my narrow seams,
But while I put my loaves in pans
My heart is light with dreams!"
This unknown author wrote the language of my heart. Singing goes well with sewing, baking, mending and cleaning insi...
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