I never forget my buddy’s name.
I often remember the names of weeds in
My mom’s dirt. Her buddy reminds her,
“Zion, it’s them the weeds just sitting there
Watching the moon.”

A minute away her father said,
“Hey, there are also tame flowers
But look away here what you dug up.”

Your dirt bed is blue and brown
And black is their wilting, their wilting, they
Kill new plants every day making their
Skinny stems chubbier.

After warning after you sat and thought
You yelled out, “clover, clover, clover,” and
Away went a dull winter wind
that rocked harshly, and bent you said,
“Father, father.”

By Olivia, 3rd grade
[photo by Leonard John Matthews via flickr]

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