The cherries didn’t fruit this year.
Waiting to be sown,
beet seeds sit
in our pockets.
Golden lit fur
grazes in the distance.
A breeze
holding their hair
just moments before,
wisps in our direction.
Wondering why
the cherries
didn’t fruit this year,
Tim sits with Tom
near the petunias.
Weaving through rhubarb at dusk
were the bravest ears we ever did see,
one less tooth
wouldn’t stop a gal
on the hunt for that
undeniable bone marrow.
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Love this. Gardens are great metaphors and you make the best of that here.