My son had a blanket he carried about.
All color dragged out of it finally.
It was his totem and breechclout.
It was more real to him than Amy and I.
I took it away once to punish him.
He lay down like roadkill to cry.
But I thought pity should not my duty cloy.
I was very wrong -- but he won't hear me now
when I say "Forgive me, my dear little boy."
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