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Linda Pastan, The Months
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1 year ago
Wildflowers
by Linda Pastan
You gave me dandelions. They took our lawn by squatters’ rights — round suns rising in April, soft moons blowing away in June. You gave me lady slippers, bloodroot, milkweed, trillium whose secret number the children you gave me tell. In the hierarchy of flowers, the wild rise on their stems for naming. Call them weeds. I pick them as I picked you, for their fierce, unruly joy.
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