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Description
Lunchtime found me in the uncut yard,
seeking cotoneaster planted years before,
left like a child, to thrive or die.
Still there, it sputtered green
beneath black raspberry and goldenrod.
Berries coming on
tasted of shade and sun;
grass reached high as knees
where it broke through.
Behind the bluebird box
a bloom of milkweed grew,
and listen,
it was alive
in more than ordinary ways.
Honeybees bustled:
a honeybee O'Hare.