2016Bluestone

The Eve Before the Day of the Poppies T.E. Gleason

For four dry days in a row And as many starry night The fairies all danced around To the smell of the fresh cut hay Slowly curing in the sun.

The wild rose guards the fresh mown fields Brought here by the soldiers And then by the birds. It leans on and laughs at the blackberry blooms Its scent is sweeter, there is no doubt But its barb cannot compare And neither can its fruit Of which is has naught any. White clover covers this hallowed ground It came up last August In our lovely second spring. From how long ago had its seed lay silent? Older than I, or older than you Or older that the first day of the poppies. If it all blooms now, will any bloom later?

Or will the line be broken For lack of bees Or lack of chance. T.E. Gleason has a farm in Southwestern Virginia.

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