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It’s the morning of our departure.
You’re smiling; relieved, I think,
at the stress of family being gone.
We’re in the driveway, and
your door has been left open.
Murphy, that big black, checkered shepherd,
comes bounding out,
bounding to get lost
if we don’t find him soon.
I forget who, I think Mom,
suggests that we use Murphy’s favorite toy to
call him back, to the family, to you.
We get the stuffed rabbit, old but faithful,
and as soon as we get it out, and start waving it about,
back comes Murphy.
Maybe, really, that’s all you needed, too,
for us to show you
a piece of home.


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