Madison Poem by Thomas Palmer
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Madison
The gardener bent toward knotted soil
on which dew found blood red and yellow blush;
and which, by line and hand furrowed,
had called to all with vain delight.
The craft of tender, each bulb upright
as considered placement made;
once preening on river's bank
now condemned to havoc and shard.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: homage
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5/7/2024 11:37:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
