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Poem – Gift
Like the last leaf from spring hanging on into winter, or prairie grasses overcoming snow and ice, life hangs on to a tenuous thread and each day is a gift.
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Poem – When the Tree Speaks My Name
Weeks have passed since my last visit. Jack pine needles blanket the pole barn’s roof a painting of solid green and brown slivers. The front porch is covered with maple and oak leaves, spider webs and left-over wood that was cut for fires. What used to be a driveway is now in the beginning stages…