Monday, March 21, 2016

The Miracle We Didn't See

by Donald Fry
More by Donald Fry can be found on his YouTube Channel

You could name them in your sleep - the Lupine,
Fuschia near the tree, Holly Hock in back,
Mimosa, Zinnias and at the Columbine,
we kissed, sealed this terest’rial zodiac.

I’m Adam in your garden – I mean ours!
I name the birds this clime will never see:
Albatross, Skylark, Nightingale – (air Tzars;)
Windhover mastering his odyssey.

Strategically these flowering vines had grown,
your labor had increased  the plants  and kids
(their laundry flapped, proof they were on their own.)
Then a hat was tapped where a rabbit hid!

My  frosted mug its evanescent suds,
your  Emily opened  to the “Hummingbird,”
our  table felt the whirl that stirred the buds,
wings, fuschia, wings lupine, all was now blurred!

The  miracle we didn’t see emerged
steady, stealthily but slow, a slug’s pace.
Compacted, composted, our soil  is merged

as is our souls, our blood, with garden's grace.