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35

A little spider on the written page
Looks up at me. I do not bother her
Nor does she me where I have come to lay
Myself down in sunshine, grass, grasshoppers
Queen Anne’s Lace crowning my head and blue tufts
Of wild anise. This field used to be corn.
Now Daddy’s old and doesn’t do that much
Work. It’s a luxury to have been born
Where I can see eye to eye with flowers
Swirls, spirals whose minuscule white petals
Blanket the whole ground, white as another
Page where I may write but never settle
Just like this meadow that I’m sitting on
Will rise back up itself when I am gone.

4 Comments

  1. Posted 28 Aug ’12 at 5:32 pm | Permalink

    Very Nicely written

  2. Glory
    Posted 28 Aug ’12 at 8:16 pm | Permalink

    Lovely pics and poem

    • Posted 1 Sep ’12 at 6:44 am | Permalink

      Thank you so much. Much appreciated.

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