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blackberry garden
eighteen sweetly singing doves
in the soft night air
fly serenely, float above
all that passes there.
snarled history conspires
under brambles' hood,
lights a torch and builds its fires
'mongst the loamy roots.
passions tangle into briars'
sweet and dripping fruit,
prickles from the thorns are liars,
berries hide real hurt.
still the songs are soothing, still
sweetly indifferent.
reaching up for light and rain,
sprouts raise tender threads;
when the gardener stalks again,
weeds will lose their heads.
still the doves are singing, singing,
singing in the sky,
and still the blackberry bush spreads--
it will cover the world.
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Favorite Quote:
There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter. —Rachel Carson