I'll Not Punish You For Having An

Mother, I Am Young. Mother, I Am Just Eighteen. I Am Strong. I Will Work Hard, Mother. But I Do Not Want This Child To Grow Up Just To Work Hard. What Must I Do, Mother, What Must I Do To Make A Different World For Her? How Do I Start?" "the Secret Lies In The Reading And The Writing. You Are Able To Read. Every Day You Must Read One Page From Some Good Book To Your Child. Every Day This Must Be Until The Child Learns To Read. Then She Must Read Every Day, I Know This Is The Secret

People Looking Up At Her--at Her Smooth Pretty Vivacious Face--had No Way Of Knowing About The Painfully Articulated Resolves Formulating In Her Mind.

No Matter Where Its Seed Fell, It Made A Tree Which Struggled To Reach The Sky. It Grew In Boarded-up Lots And Out Of Neglected Rubbish Heaps, And It Was The Only Tree That Grew Out Of Cement. It Grew Lushly, But Only In The Tenements Districts.... That Was The Kind Of Tree It Was. It Liked Poor People.

She Went Out And Took A Last Long Look At The Shabby Little Library. She Knew She Would Never See It Again. Eyes Changed After They Looked At New Things. If In The Years To Be She Were To Come Back, Her New Eyes Might Make Everything Seem Different From The Way She Saw It Now. The Way It Was Now Was The Way She Wanted To Remember It.

We'll Leave Now, So That This Moment Will Remain A Perfect Memory...let It Be Our Song And Think Of Me Every Time You Hear It.