This morning I will dampen all the weeds
In hopes to salvage their resplendence
Their joy they once surfaced had to recede
and was sullied by something senseless
Tomorrow will be like any other
the trickle of water will surely lapse
and life’s pretense will glean by the gutter
and filter itself into broken cracks
And from my knees I will entreat to God,
The One who has known me all too well.
To give me some shoes, replace this old shod
And rid me swift from this mortal swell.
Although this land has long since been infertile
Even splendor springs as a lonely seed
And blooms to a hyacinth, perhaps a myrtle
A rose petal as soft as clover mead
And imbibe this essence, again we shall
to pass the knowledge from me to you
and share the table of oak and pine as pals,
and laud the garden at a closer view.