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Poetry Spirituality Uncategorized

Peach Trees

Peach trees grew here years ago,
when the summer days flowed like a lazy river.
They let cool nectar run down their chins,
unworried that the garden would yield to muddy March ground,
trampled by growing children not yet born.

Now the dried out stumps of broken peach trees
mark a line the grass dared not cross,
rich loam meant for deeper roots and
heavy branches thick with fruit.

We will plant something here again.
This patch will glow green once more,
and we will eat the warmth of the summer sun,
until our time in the garden passes
and the ground is ripe with growing children not yet born.