Packing Cases Of Farmiliarity
We have a small garden, it's a picket fence patch,
where the leaves are aglitter with silversoft dew.
In the morning sun, sprinkles, oh so sweetly to match
all the stars of our fragrance, the love that is you.
It brings forth an assortment of veggies and fruit
there are blushes inside, as your smile feeds each root.
Tens of thousands of petals come fully alive,
in the treetops, in silence, warm breezes arrive.
So, with ladder and buckets, hands joined, we now pick
heavy fruits of our labours and we taste and we lick.
Deep inside we can savour the warmth and the glow
as we hug we are closer and we watch our plants grow.
And we tend to our garden,
from late frost to high Fall,
when the Brussel Sprouts harden
and the corn still stands tall.
When the snow paints our meadows
and our root cellars hold
'mongst the cobwebs and shadows
in the wintery cold
jars of onions in pickle,
tasty cheese melts, fondue
four bare feet bound to tickle
and new hunger for you.
* * * * * * *
Later, we look out our bay window......
And our birdbath is touching the cirrus cloud sky
and what once did not matter, life's bright sparks now may fly.
There is promise in bunches, found in long fertile rows
as our compost recycles and new life surely grows.
And each fruit core is health
as its centre aligns,
for in new season's wealth
vital juice flavours shine.
Bright red carrots, potatoes,
Cauliflower and more,
black and red big tomatoes
don't compare to the store.
And, whilst washing dries crisp above the old range
we stroll out to pinch bums and for news to exchange.
Over daily events, newborn lambs in the field
and how peach becomes jam and how bottles are sealed.
* * * * * * * *
A new morning settles, as the hens lay us eggs
there is strong coffee brewing, and our food makes strong legs....
As we sit in our garden, watching birds flutter by
see the bees and the pigeons, tend to Nature's demands,
making love to small petals by the warmth from the sky
so that folks live in peace off the fruits of the lands.
By the sweat of our brows will we toil our lives,
leaving greed and all envy outside.
Pollination means more to us husbands and wives
let the folks on the land be your guide.
We were sent from the Garden Of Eden to earth,
not to battle and slay fellow man,
how we wish for a change, for a sudden re-birth,
it must surely have been the great plan.
Holding hands, we just rest at the end of the day
there is tenderness kissing our skin,
little crumbs of dark soil on our shirts is okay
(and a smudge of manure on your chin) .
This is life as it surely was mean to be had
we have each found a sweet precious soul,
we turn up the old range in the kitchen a tad,
almost time for the night's casserole.
And we sit by the fire
with our bowls of hot stew
it's OUR patch we admire
for our LOVE is dug through.
Tis just part of our story
we now stockpile for more,
but our greetings say welcome
come right in, through the door.
* * * * * * * *
We welcome all visits from poets and friends,
we will serve to the moment the table top bends.....
Come and share in our laughter
and the cider we made,
watch the cock in the rafters
come and sit in the shade.
And to those who consider
to come back to our roots,
let him be the first bidder
for a pair of gum boots.
Please excuse us, she's mooing
as her offspring is due,
a new calf will be cooing
and our life starts anew.
We have chosen to live,
to immerse in our dream,
where we take as we give
and share peaches and cream.
What is LOVE you may wonder,
a mirage seldom found?
We shall leave you to ponder,
in for penny, for pound.