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GTimothy Gordon

All night I dreamed you,

or think I did, color turned

black-and-white cool, fall,

you working our garden,

or so it seemed, lingering over

desert fern, Balsam root

Asian transplant, lilac patch

never quite taken, bruised blue

rhubarb, until fall, on waking,

wore itself out, flora-cum-frost,

season never tough enough

to stay the course,

you past a day.

Author, Poet, Writer, American, Indian Australian writers
GTimothy Gordon
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