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.