Smithereens Press Chapbooks Taking the Oath by Tom French | Page 35

There is where he dammed the water to wash;
his scythe hangs where he kept it in the thatch.
Birds are plundering the horse’s collar
for nesting material, and the handful
of things he hung to dry at the fire
are there yet, dry as a bone.
Out the back pegs survive on a line
tied between trees groaning under fruit.
His damsons are as ripe today as they will ever be.

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