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Hunting for Morels

In vain I searched for morels knowing

nothing, a large sack slung across my chest

large enough to carry more mushrooms

than likely exist in this entire county.

Found instead two small clutches

of Dutchmen’s breeches so darling

looking just so like tiny white pantaloons

hung on a line to dry puffed out by a spring breeze.

And a pair of mallards on the creek

husband and wife as is the way of

mallards enjoying (one can only hope)

the quiet wet day.

Geese flew over honking.

Dogs chomped on dripping grass.

And I?  I drank up the drizzly

romantic morning despite my large

empty sack.

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