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Sunday, January 14, 2018

On Franklin Hill Farm: The rustle of brown leaves

A poem of an afternoon’s experience










By Bettina Sperry

With a keen and cautious eye,
I saw two pups
playing and rustling around
like two brown leaves
atop a rolling mountain.

Not seeing the vixen
since summer, I knew
it was Mother Nature
giving me a forewarning
and a chance to be
mindful of my flock.
She returns to me
as three.



Copyright © 2018 by Bettina Sperry

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