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Seasons

posted Apr 29, 2020, 10:21 AM by Bruce Rowe

The spring rain dapples the surface of the pond

 

The ducks are loving it—mallards, wigeons and some kind of diving duck

 

The soggy world outside is a river in the driveway and a flood in my garden

 

I shelter here in quarantine, watching ducks and writing

 

She is warm and dry, but does she know it’s raining?

 

Her birthday is next week, but we can’t celebrate together this year

 

I could stand outside her window in the rain and sing to her

 

But she would not understand why I am outside and not beside her

 

She gets a pill to help her eat and another to help her sleep

 

She converses continually with no one in particular

 

In the language of her youth

 

We are in the autumn of our years

 

But the spring rain will fall again

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