graftedA Poem by m.s.earlyWhere did you keep your secrets before this winter? Perhaps the pastoral village nestled in the hills just past the bird sanctuary protected them until your incessant cultivating pruned those unwieldy splinters. In the Spring, blooms suffered the stifling weeds in the garden that grandmother planted before she died; better you should grip your steering wheel tighter yet to guide and change your gears and accelerate to higher speeds for now that the bird is outside the sanctuary and sings it beckons you just further along the painted lanes, and your heart is beating faster and how it truly strains against the ancient winds that now gale beneath her wings drawing you both to the garden where blooms will now reclaim in the bulwark of the sanctuary intertwined you'll safely cling, rewriting each other's codas to graft your futures' sweet refrain.
© 2014 m.s.earlyReviews
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Added on February 3, 2014Last Updated on February 3, 2014 |

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