4/5/21

Grace

Spring, incessantly robust, leaned on the bell today and brightened the porch.
It was wearing a smile hedged with teeth and green, Hollow Men eyes.
Barrel chest. Barefoot. Tattered gown and moldy hair.
It carried a clip board of rotten winter paper and rows of extinguished phone numbers.

The tree I planted across the street many years ago to grace my view.

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