Tired of resting on my laurels & sycamore, more, more society, I treed something else. ‘Went to the beech and met a nut named Ash. We became fast fronds—it helped he had weeds—I hope you conifer what I mean, wink wink
(I’m sequoia)
Anyway, we made a bract. A pithy bract, and if you’re aspen what kind of bract, well the core of it was:
f*ck yew & the horse you rhododendron…
©Karen Robiscoe
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