Feeding Flowers

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She slumps to the sun room
Water can in hand
To feed the growing greens.
Water’s sloshing around
In the can and splashing her
Freshly pressed khaki pants.
Her job, at eighty eight,
Is to return every drop of life.
Take the can, make the trek
From sink to sunroom.
And she says thanks
To the growing greens because
They’re feeding her, too.





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