Swinging upon a rusty swing-set High up in my up-swing I spotted a lifeless pile of feathers Lying amongst the Autumn leaves I waddled over, wide-eyed, innocent, And bent down to collect them in my tiny hands I watched as black feathers fell from a limp body Floated silently to rest upon the dry sand I picked up what remained of the body And took it home with me I took it to my Mother's garden In hopes that by burying it, it would be set free So there I stuck those feathers Right between her now-withered tomato vines Covered it with an inch of hard Earth And wiped the wetness beneath my eyes Months later… Sudden rains would drain from the skies Soaking my Mother's garden in large muddy puddles Soon the Sun would eventually peek from thick gray-white clouds Seeking to disperse the pools of water dry And there, in the middle of my Mother's garden Amongst the plump ripe red tomatoes Would rise a solitary sunflower As yellow as my Grandfather's teethBirth sign: Leo
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