Gardener's Labor
The bitter lips of wind kiss veiny petals
between the moon licked eyes so close
it forms a bond of sinew riddles
that only seem to be broken in mornings burst.
Hungry is the man that immerses himself in earth
only to rip from her the fruits of her labor.
Though through his tireless labor
Gaia’s beauty rings true through sun stained petals.
Peace is reached in the embrace of flesh to earth
when worm hugs cling to filthy thumbs, close
at hand. Backyard jungle comes forth bursting,
screaming in the wind her untold riddles.
With seeds the soul is riddled,
left to blossom in spring time bee labor.
Pollinate ideas in soil and watch them burst
forth in an epilogue of firey petals.
Take it in and drink the soul of the earth.
For only in the kiss of earth
may we find an answer to life’s riddles.
When the sun is setting and the moon is close
be proud of your days of labor
and relish in the ginger petals
that gleam for you in star bursts.
The sun will always rise again, bursting
in the robins sky. As yawning earth
stretches sleepy petals
skyward in search of cotton riddles.
Let not the throat run dry for hearted labor
when Eden is so very close.
Clinging to the mirrors edge, don’t close
the door to your sanctum. But burst
instead through vines of gold, the labor
from your hands have beautified earth
you may never solve all the riddles
scratched in sun on soft petals.
Hold the petals close in hand
as riddles burst from sweetened bulbs
joined forever to the earth in loving labor of the soul
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