I’m doing the best that I can
with the soil and the seeds that I’ve got.

Sun, wind, rain, bring me fortunes from the sky,
I am beholden.

My eyes focus on horizons far away,
except when I see you near.

The lush gold ambers of Autumn
mean less in the face of coming Spring.

But crochet somber patchquilt around
a silenced final snow.

Chagall 2018

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