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Standing Rights 

A murmur riffles through the eucalyptus leaves

Sparrows pitch into pale cloud cover

then dip into another swaying perch

branches taking turns to host each guest

We argue its origins

But the eucalyptus is my mother

Shielding, cooling comfort

Her thrashing arms making a mess of my yard

fighting a fierce wind

She came before me

Just another hard-working immigrant.

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Jan Bramlett

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