Dead nettle,
bittercress,
wild garlic,
once healing tonics
taken in spring,
today only weeds,
unwanted,
except by me
for my eyes and palette
served in a bed of vivid fresh greens.
A poem in progress ©Copyright Bernadette E. Kazmarski
Just getting a little sentimental about my garden.
Read more: Essays ♦ Short Stories ♦ Poetry
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