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my wheelbarrow (1 Viewer)


WF Veterans
is not red,
has no soil within
plants only notice its wheels
when it passes.

It rests
against the loosening fence
whispering its secrets to the nails
and pailings
each always wanting to sever contact
with the other;

stirs remorse in my hands
and knee joints.

I made that garden
spread the soil
scattered the seeds
watered and weeded and waited…

now the wheelbarrow,
rusted and not red
waits for hands that will not return.

I only pass this way once
set out a single garden
let time do the rest.


Senior Member
I like this a lot. I'm usually not a poem fan, but I think because you are using elements of a garden, it speaks to me. Very nicely written.