o weed that springeth!
by Cheryl Cudmore
 

up the old
ex- t e n s i o n
ladder to brighter
whiter windows
turning mother
mound over mound
mixing sifting her
off to the nursery
for babies to raise
to blossomy beauties
a feeder filled
with water and seed
beckons from
the maple tree
slap off the dust
of decomposition
no more innocent
plant deaths
stain these hands