found what I needed
embedded in rusty edges
unbidden by quiet spiders
spinning silky death
feet slipping through soft earth
fingers shifting leaves
masking moonbeams
ripe with meaning
sometimes your stories haunt me
and I want you
to show me what lurks beneath
mossy rocks and night
nothing can frighten
a heart busy and full
meet me in my garden
we will find new songs to write
The Word Rummager 
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