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Sonja Benskin Mesher
Poems
Aug 2013
288. the beetle.
it was my beetle, dead, not buried.
i keep them, yet it fell
to the floor,
mysteriously lost.
we try to turn disasters round,
here, knowing it will be found,
some time.
my dear sweet sexton, the burying kind.
aptly the grave digger, it seems
you can buy dead insects on line.
sbm.
Written by
Sonja Benskin Mesher
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