These things are mine

Jane Dougherty Writes

These things are mine

Planting flowers
watching a heron
talking to children far away

listening to blackbirds
walking the meadow
counting the deer tracks in damp clay

gazing at clouds peony pink
after the storm beneath the soft rain
building a shelter to start life again

these things are mine
like the beat of your heart
though the wind’s in the east and the world falls apart.

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