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Alone, I approach the white vinyl fence, ponderinG.
The venture in the northwest corner of the yard, the whole ideA,
was to balance function, purpose, and beauty; a welcome wondeR
to all who passed under the arch in search of food. Serenity prevaileD.
Word reached rocks and weeds long since not to bother living herE.
And etched overhead, Dad's clapboard sign: "Time began in a gardeN."
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Author Notes
My parents' garden, when I was a teen, encompassed the entire north side of our yard. Its dual purposes were to one, feed us, and two, teach us responsibility and hard work. Over the years, the garden shrunk in size but grew in beauty and elegance. Now, as we say goodbye to five glorious thornless blackberry bushes and eight stunning raised brick beds that grew homemade salsa ingredients, I wade through memories thick and lush.
I recently learned an acrostic poem can include the subject word vertically at the end of each line rather than at the beginning. I felt this style would be apropos since we have nearly reached the end of our time with our home.
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