Poetry
by Phoebe Wang
Scotch Broom
Given the chance, who wouldn’t do the same? You rode in the coat-pockets of your forefathers, made your own bed. Encouraged to spread in all directions, you tapped deep, rendered it a headache for anything else to settle. We hold your success against you. Each spring is a trial by fire. Yellow flags highlight a cautionary tale.
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[Distillate © HA&L + Phoebe Wang | {from the Greek bios} -- the course of a life.]
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