• Libbie

On the Day One Hundred Thousand Died

I was in my garden

among the patient green

the blades of iris leaves

cutting faded petals of peony

and the yarrow rising up

to replace what had fallen.

Between the stones of the path

a bee lay curled and brown

and still. Rest well, little sister,

among the upward joy of life

and there beyond the edge of where

an arc of water falls

where the soil drinks deep

and for a moment shines

till Earth draws down the light.

Libbie Grant

May 27, 2020

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