Pulling Weeds

Sister fair,
Can’t you hear the storm a’ comin’
don’t you feel the touch of winter
on the fingers of the wind?

Brother strong,
Don’t you know the tide is turning,
and the weight of rising water
will be more than we can bear?

All Along,
we indulge a pleasant blindness
as we tend to fenced-in gardens,
ignoring heavy weather,
pulling harmless weeds.

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