Who - Poem by David McLansky
Who will weed my garden
After I am gone?
Who will write my poetry
And sing my sad, sad songs:
The bulbs that I have planted,
The blazing purples and the reds
Will be crowded out by green weeds
Strangled in their beds;
Gone will be the glory
The tale of all that I have done;
Oh who will feed my wife,
Be a father to my sons?
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