I can only go around the yard
Picking up pieces of the world
It's so unfair of me
To compare one thing
To any other each stick
Is so unique soaked with rain
As if it would sprout again
If shoved into the ground
By the right hands
Isn't this all a tired gardener wants
The saucy poppies
Roaming the streets
The jonquils in drifts
For the deer to eat
No comments:
Post a Comment