A rose, a poem
A bird in a nest
Flowers bloom, chainsaws whir–
“the diseased elms had to go”
Smell of sawdust, rain, wet sand
Apple blossoms falling
Stuck to my hand.

Sitting in the sandbox,
I can hear trucks on the highway.
It’s humid,|
The sand sticks to me,
But not sunny, cloudy.

Sicksweet smell of apple blossoms fallen
Where is mother?
Why am I alone?
It’s all right ma, I’m only playing