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No longer a bush, but a tree,
it shades the patio, perfumes
the air with its lush crop
of plump berries, and wild roses
that twine the trunk
and tangle through the limbs
as if they’ve bloomed from its roots.

In constant competition
with waxwings that come for dinner
and stay ‘til the crop is done,
there is still ample supply
of berries bursting to be cobblers,
On a mission to make their wishes
come true, she complies in the kitchen.

Baking and boiling,
stocking the freezer with treats,
the pantry with jars of jam,
When winter claims the calendar with chill
the bounty of the magnificent mulberry
will serve to remind
of these days of windsong and sun.

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