From the woven fabric of my yellow shirt

I discover I’m a messenger.

Carrying seed through the day’s reach

point to point

street to street

a small life clings Рa burr on a wing

Cactus, poppy, weed?

Pluck it off, I’m unfit for Spring

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2 Responses to Barren

  1. Ms. Moon says:

    You may feel this way and I’m sure you do but…not really. Even if all you consider is your writing, you are far from barren.

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