Memories
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    February 2017

I water the garden
To quench once more:

The flowers that wither
When left unattended
By gardeners who dither
When time runs out.

The daisies of crayons
I got for my birthday
And never used.

The orange tree's branches
Whose fruits are bruised.

The rosy ooze.

And lastly the weed-patch
Of moments of mirth
That might (if I let them)
Inherit the Earth.