Gifts
There can never be enough,
though the acres seem an endless blue.
I wade beyond last year's swaying buff
to where the field is new.
Though the acres seem an endless blue
two buckets swing from each arm
to where the field is new
with gems, juicy charms.
Two buckets swing from each arm
and I remember the gifts I'll make
with the gems, the juicy charms:
jellies, pies, muffins, pancakes.
I remember the gifts I'll make
as I kneel in the earth's awning:
jellies, pies, muffins, pancakes
warm on a cool morning.
As I kneel in the earth's awning
I taste them, the tangy pearls
warm on a cool morning.
Handfuls of little worlds.
I taste the tangy pearls
as my buckets wait for some
handfuls of little worlds
to satisfy my hungry tongue.
As my buckets wait for some,
I wade beyond last year's buff
to satisfy my hungry tongue.
There can never be enough.