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 When I count the seeds by Emily Dickinson 
						When I count the seedsThat are sown beneath,
 To bloom so, bye and bye --
 
 When I con the people
 Lain so low,
 To be received as high --
 
 When I believe the garden
 Mortal shall not see --
 Pick by faith its blossom
 And avoid its Bee,
 I can spare this summer, unreluctantly.
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