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September 22, 2009

A Slice of My Life

White sheep, white sheep
on a blue hill,
when the wind stops
you all stand still.
When the wind blows,
you walk away slow.
White sheep, white sheep,
where do you go?

by Christina Rosetti

I memorized this poem in first or second grade, probably for a spring program to which parents were invited.

Isn't it funny how you can remember a poem from elementary school, your first phone number and address, and yet can't remember what you did yesterday or where you put your keys?

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