This Poem was Submitted By: Mark D. Kilburn On Date: 2003-04-03 14:17:54 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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DON'S SONG

     Down by the ghetto      my friend lives small and quiet;      illicitly growing brilliant rainbows      on magical beanstalks, in liquid soil.      Watered with carbon dioxide,      twenty budding children;      red and white-headed works of art.            Underground masterpieces with      odd numbered leaves;      like Beethoven’s best symphonies-      third, fifth, seventh and ninth...      Human eyes feast and focus       on this primped, plucked and pruned,       determined perfection.      A botanical thanksgiving      for answered prayers.            Just a few idyllic months       of green-thumbed utopia;      before the harvest-      when all that is reaped,      is the midnight fear       of Gestapo nightmares,      that become ghetto reality...

Copyright © April 2003 Mark D. Kilburn


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