Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #5                         Page 22
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Burn Barrel

Trees shed limbs,
dry brittle branches
dropped by gales
or breaths of breeze,
a crack, a rustle,
and another pile
of brush to burn,
breath in lengths
to fit my barrel,
no ceremony,
a simple cremation
that converts
forests to ashes
to expose how far
the horizon lies.

  Richard Dinges, Jr.