barren in the midst

-
Birds rest on twiggy staleness, (brittle from a hard night's mourning,

anchored poorly in weedy sweetness). Fragrance gives no warning.

 
Lush lies beneath, whate'er there lies
and I will find it and tend it, though beneath grey skies.
 

* photo taken by me at Prairie Rock, Hoffman Estates IL. Camera: Nokia E61i Phone

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