Out here, wild rhubarb grows free,
Bitter beauty escapes designs by premiers
And presidents,
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...
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