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The Treehouse

 To every man
His treehouse,
A green splice in the humping years,
Spartan with narrow cot
And prickly door.
To every man His twilight flash Of luminous recall of tiptoe years in leaf-stung flight; of days of squirm and bite that waved antennas through the grass; of nights when every moving thing was girlshaped, expectantly turning.
To every man His house below And his house above— With perilous stairs Between.

by James A Emanuel
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