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Improv 2, Week 2

Walt Whitman "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking"

Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving
his bed wander'd alone, bare-headed, barefoot...

TOMS

Into the homeland permantly mud drowned,
Into the sounds of pans and kids clanking, the usual filled air,
Into the five years of calloused feet since birth,
Welcome to the rain washed paths and fields right here, where the children
sit on their porches and perches with Tom, full hair, covered feet.

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