Wakeful of words (remembering May Sarton)

A poem

I'm carrying May's
purse. I found it last
night in a dream.
Lily of the valley
like stars fashion
the roof while
tiny red begonias
moan their way
out of 4-inch pots.
Like the silk purse,
questions dissolve into
rich, organic loam.
Wakeful of words,
some tangle of weeds,
it is the poet's wisdom
we need:
Let nothing go to seed.
Kathleen Gunton

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