Having Lunch With the First Grade

I daydream while they play I Spy:
purple grapes, orange orange, pink
strawberry milk. My habit
of attachment persists: I want this
to last and last. What was it Whitman said?
Full of life now, compact, visible.
The teacher claps twice to make
the children listen, the children
clap three times in response.
A silence arrives–a bird stands
still for a second–and I think,
perhaps incongruently, perhaps not,
the only thing we have to do is love.

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