Well here I am, you lover of all whom
you brought into this world made as their home,
to be a blessed benefit, to bloom
with sweet surprises - where each foot would roam.
I feel a dry deserted wilderness,
where order’s not appreciated for
no one is gently doting, no caress
will linger long to know the land which bore
the goodnesses which crowd into our lives.
Well here I am, reflection of your great
supportive energy which brings each rise
in hopefulness, quite faithful to your mates.
A part of me would (unlike you, the who
would be and let, and see & then applaud)
like just to pout and grump, ta martyr stews,
a sour bit a herbage pot with gourd
grown near to all the pumpkins being used.
No understandings which bring sweet re-leaf
into my stark existence. Jonah mused
maybe, when after his story was sheathed
he let a chuckle brighten up his life,
not from another serving him some more,
but as his own attention to his wife
bears fruit in little Simon’s that she bore..
and many goods as well, that crowd on in
to this small home that mirrors bigger things.
I’ll say your message. Live that life of “sin”
that sits so short of all our hopes and dreams.
