Grunt's Garden
So thoughtfully busily going to the tomb
Were you enamored with words from the womb
Verbally gurgling did you succumb
Or did it come later in life
Likened to lightning spelling you under
Suddenly there before hearing the thunder
Rapidly vapidly words in your head
Were ringing and clamoring yet to be said
At work in your garden editing hedge
Trimming unwanted excess
It smacks of sedition this growing ambition
To put plants in orderly rowed inhibition
Sun reaching in silent distress
The beauty of discipline held up to view
In close captivated submission
In ranks and in rows uniformly disposed
Earthbound and holding attention
Yet openly Stubbornly free
They continue to grow.
To Flander's field poppies
And crosses akin
They are harvests of memory to reap
Promises planted to keep
Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2005
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