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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, November 21, 2011

The Crows

photo by Dorothea Lange
juicy berries ripe for the picking
hungry hands fidget in pockets
pilfered produce
scouted, squeezed, bruised, tasted, devoured
when did you learn to turn away
pretend not to see?
look at your garden
the fences won't keep out the crows
they circle as you sleep

submitted for Poetry Jam, A Time to Ponder