garden poem

by greeen

in late september
the blackberry bush buds and blooms
young raspberries ripen by the back door
bees come and go from spanish lavender
rosemary waves sprigs of tiny purple stars
the air carries a faint chill
whispers of autumn
beckoning me
to leave walls behind
and sleep under the sky
listening to plants speak in green
and inhaling the brown bouquet
of soil stories

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