carlow

lichen-laced gravestone
weathered white with age:
there we read our name

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thorn

in the poppy bed
there’s a stubborn weed
i never can seem to kill

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dressed for spring

midway up the hill
the neighbor’s weeping fig
is dressed for spring
a gown of bridal white blossoms
shielding leafless branches.

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o Love ever-burning

Who will lift the shroud of night
heaven’s light fresh to reveal
overcome death’s with’ring blight
deign our wounded hearts to heal?

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