Song

a quiet day of busy hands
slowly, slowly, places
are being arranged and
space is made

slowly, slowly, I settle
in my new air, new
latitude

the blossom of spring is gone -
blooms the garden tall and green,
roots reaching
I water the ground with my tears

at night in my dreams
I am visited
by those who are gone

I learn a new song of
peace-filled weeks
my swan-song

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