In spite of the fact that the deer nibbled the Hosta leaves down to the core, some of them are blooming like they don't know how to stop!
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The birds have come! They sing, they sing!
On greening boughs that sway and swing,
And over meadows winging,
Where late the winter's snow has lain,
Clear washed by April's warming rain;
And verdure fresh is springing!
Catherine J. Miller (Aunt Kate)
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