Standing in the thick green
of bindweed and cheesewheel
it is easy to dream of a time
when the garden is perfectly
hoed and the peppers hang
red on the stems, the green beans
dangle like long slender earrings
and the ears of corn swell with gold.
Silly dreamer, says Rumi, who
comes in to sit beside the peas.
You are waiting for a miracle
when it is already happening.
You hit the jackpot again, Rosemerry!
Like nthe miracle at your finger tips as your words come out so beautifully. Thank you for this lovely way to start my day, now I will go to the garden and sit with the miracle of the tomato plants.
Lovely, turned to perfection. One more perfect poem hanging on the poet tree.
Hey!
I have a garden that grows Rumi too–how cool is that!