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.

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