daily bread

yet we ran out, and no butter too.

it will be a daily thing, now the grass is cut,

now the leaves fall. have you seen the path,

a newer colour, gold. it is the lilac leaves

dying.

the plan is made this year, so each day,

a little while, we will rake and gather.

bag the leaves tidy, yet still hope

the wind will come and blow some

away.

it was a full day’s work yesterday.

sbm.

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