The Bark of the Birch
The bark of the birch - it’s curled for peeling
as the whippoorwill commands the block.
I fill my lungs with the pine-riddled air,
discounting the call of the clock.
A trickle of water escapes the hose,
a new pepper has sprouted - no, a pair!
Pleased with the snips of roses I chose,
apart from a vase, I haven’t a care.
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