Monday, March 28, 2016

pastures of plenty


Don’t know much about history but yours
is braided with mine on the backside of a big
bay mare grazing one fine spring morning
our hearts soaring with every lazy switch of her tail
pasture lush and rumpled, a big old bed
mapped by laden bees.  Bottle flies eye us from
twitching flanks, tied up neat in yellow ribbon. 

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