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Hilda Conkling

Only Morning-Glory That Flowered

Under the vine I saw one morning-glory

A tight unfolding bud

Half out.

He looked hard down into my lettuce-bed.

He was thinking hard.

He said I want a friend!

I was standing there:

I said, Well, I am here! Don't you see me?

But he thought and thought.

The next day I found him happy,

Quite out,

Looking about the world.

The wind blew sweet airs,

Carried away his perfume in the sun;

And near by swung a new flower

Uncurling its hands . . .

He was not thoughtful

Any more!