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07 June 2014

a change of harvest

As a youth, the ripe red fruit fell
from the trees and the bushes
to my soft-skinned feet
and the cool water flowed
from endless streams.
Honeysuckle perfumed the air
and crickets played symphonies
to send me into nocturnal sleep.

Now youth is gone
and I must scrape
and wrestle my food
from the earth,
cracking knuckles and parched lips
the only interruptions
in the foreboding silence
of our existence.

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