Friday, August 13, 2010

ODE TO BEATRICE

Beatrice planted
With phase of moon
Be damned her
crooked spine
Her harvest
Plenty
Her salvage
Sweet
She greeted
And shared
With all
She'd meet
Beatrice parted
when Moon was full
Before it
Was her time
No one mourned
Though her deeds
Were grand
Was always
Present
With helping hand

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