morning rainthe sparrows dislike the new feeder.
Too swingy.
© Rachel Green 2020
The damson tree has perished
unexpectedly
not risen to life
with the dawning of spring.
Dad shrugs and says "'appens,"
though I blame the tyre swing
he roped up for me last summer.
I'll miss the sweet sharpness
and my mother making jam
with all the stones still in,
ready to crack your teeth
as you bite down
on a white bread sammich.
© Rachel Green 2020
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