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In July
by Jane Roop

white headed yarrow stands upright,
                                         fern sage-colored leaves sparsely measured
along a thin stem, at ease in
                                         the afternoon heat.
The shallow field where it stands
                                         a painter’s canvas, daubs of white
float over thick green
                                         strokes of meadow grass, all
balanced in the weightlessness
                                         of mountain sunshine.
Tomorrow the wind may come
                                         pushing grey bottom clouds
across the sky, swaying pine trees
                                         snapping stems and limbs,
and September is certain to bring
                                         autumn brown, drying up, falling down
but today the yarrow holds
                                         the center ground, yielding not to earth or sky.

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