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2019 Albuquerque American Place Garden Psalms Poems

Goodbye garden

Goodbye garden
Your time is done;
Late and short
November Sun.

Cut off their heads
and dig their graves;
Before autumn rain
Yields to icy waves.

Last of summer’s
flowers cling;
Removed to tables’
center to sing.

Stow the barrow,
Heat the birds;
“Winter’s coming”
so we’ve heard.

“Want me to start a fire?”

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