Raymond A. Foss Poems

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The last ripe berries
from our own little vine
woven into the rhododendron
hidden from the birds,
other interested parties
left to darken for a few days more
the last of the rich strong fruit
before the cooling of the days
the readying for the winter
fall in full bloom in the air
tart berries, tangy fruit
the final fruits of the season
as brief as it was

September 16, 2007 14:54

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