On the Other Side of the Fence
A low fence lined
with wild roses.
Two white chairs
and a round white table.
Scent of a recent
afternoon rain.
Beet greens proud,
crimson veined and tall
and the gooseberries swollen
nearly red.
In this small garden
everything tended.
In me a longing
to love you like that.
I do so like this poem, except for the last line. The poem is concrete, so full of detail, it feels the ending is a let down. If it weren’t for that word, love, and all its predictable imagery, this poem would sing! Does sing. Why not the last two lines, pruned as such:
In me
a longing like that.
You are so so so right!
ahhh! now i see why the changes between this version and the one posted to the womensspiritualpoetry blogspot. again, the sorcery of three words, the difference they make