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By John I. Blair

I’d always thought of these
As pesky weeds,
Twining vines that climb
On every plant I grow
And give me hours of work
Untwisting them,
Uprooting them.

But this morning
I saw the brilliance
Of their crimson berries
Glowing in the winter sun,
A mockingbird
Feeding on them eagerly
In frigid January air.

©John I. Blair 2016

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