The Sand Hill Review http://www.sandhillreview.org 2011
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Mourning Tom As
I hike the narrow trail through
this bit of wilderness we
used to walk, a
red-shafted flicker hammers
a pine, and the
canyon wren’s descending whistle spirals
round my head. I stoop to
watch the feral bees work
the Indian warrior, enter
each spike of blossoms, their
hooked feet catching the
toothed petals. Then they fly, nectar-filled,
pollen baskets packed, off
to feed their brood, store the
honey no one will steal. Patricia
Zylius |
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