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precocious
Filed Sunday, January 19 2003.

Apparently, while in kindergarden, I so liked this poem by Pulitzer winner Sarah Teasdale, that I memorized and recited the entire thing:

Stars

Alone in the night
On a dark hill
With pines around me
Spicy and still,

And a heaven full of stars
Over my head,
White and topaz
And misty red;

Myriads with beating
Hearts of fire
That aeons
Cannot vex or tire;

Up the dome of heaven
Like a great hill,
I watch them marching
Stately and still,

And I know that I
Am honored to be
Witness
Of so much majesty.

In kindergarden. How cloyingly precious.