Out here, wild rhubarb grows free,
Bitter beauty escapes designs by premiers
Red-veined leaves untouched by the
Denizens of this desert.
Morality endures despite the sins
Of man, mere miles away.
Asleep at last, my small pond releases
Crawlers, bent on surveying the usual haunts,
Where spirits descend to warn of
Bad tidings, if wandering too far from this oasis.
In the moonlight, a pothole party regales
The gathered, with song and dance from the faithful.
Wind spirits, twirling nearby, brush feathers, leaves and
Tentacles, with soothing echoes. Green Darners rocket about, flashing
Smoky emerald wings, while fireflies spark the dark night.
Out here, wild rhubarb grows free.
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Copyright © James Marshall Goff