Ooo Couchgrass,
I have forked you out
for many days
from dawn till sunset
on my own on the field
As your roots break to easily
You make me dig like a pig
It is a mental exercise not to look
to you being outnumbered and I being alone
with only one fork to pick
Yet, as I find a rithm
of shoots of pain in my back
I smile in the burning sun and now that one day
I might be gone
(fragment of "poems for dying goats")
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