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Thursday, April 6, 2023

Petals

Released from the bud’s tiny fist,

Crab petals vaguely exist.


It’s not in them to resist

Their bleaching by the sun


Or the wind that makes them run

In waves along the ground.


After rain, they can be found,

Spinning pink clusters,


In swiftly emptying gutters.

The last, like a dim pulse, flutter.


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