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| A HAMMOCK UNDER MANGO TREES |
Summers shimmer at the back of my mind.
Over to the redeemed days at 9, I come back to find again the mysteries of my childhood mirth.
The leafy arms of the fruit trees fan me to sleep at the close of the day and gently rouses me up at the threshold of another sunshine, laden with new hopes in its pockets.
If not for Pam of Writing Apples of Gold and Diane of An Encouraging Word,
