Queen Anne's Lace
It is full summer. The abandoned mill
Sits empty at the bottom of the hill -
Dark windowed, broken-belted, rusted, still.
The parking lot's uneven, patched with sand.
On ponds the recent rain has left behind,
Damselflies skim over, never land.
Lace fit for queens grows up in spots like these,
Between the broken pavement and the trees,
With golden daisies and the pink wild peas.
Page(s) 18
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