Each Wake When It’s Their Turn
Sunday sonnet
Published in
Apr 28, 2024
Each time I walk this garden path I see
another wonder waking back to life
and just in time they flower just for me.
A couple I’ll cut with this pruning knife.
Some languish in the cold wet muck and rot.
A feast for molds and multitudes down low.
The dead will feed the living. I fear…
