Hope's Harvest
The fruits hang low, a tantalizing tease –
sweet dreams that grow on blossom’s tender vines,
and flirt a tempting envy in the breeze
to drip its suckled breast with precious wines.
She sweeps with careful pleasure through the leaves
to harvest what was tender for the day;
a labor loved beneath the arbor eaves
as sunlight sprinkles hope within their sway.
It is inside this envy that I learn
the secrets that a patient mind should grasp;
the obvious is not what you should yearn,
but truths that lie unseen within the task.
So often what desire cannot reach
Is left for lost posterity to teach.
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