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