This reddening of cheeks.
We are overly blessed with miracles like rose-hip tea.

Our miracles never raise the dead.
Or reconstitutes dust and ash.

We weed sins from our lives.
It is sweaty work that thankfully fails.

This annual swelling of earth.
Our attempts to graft redemption to apple trees.

We are sloppy drunk on hard cider.
Forget-me-nots blanket the cemetery.

copyright © 2023 Kenneth P. Gurney

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