Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, October 22, 2018

Sonnet #266

I take great pride in little things, like this:

Any time of day, any time of year, I go
into my little southern garden I know
that there will be butterflies, their whisper kiss
alighting on the flowers, there, planted
to call them down from the clouds --
the bees are always there -- I'm proud
to say they bustle in the vines and shrubs
while I refrain from laying poisons down;

The work, when I am getting to it, shove
a few words down, a few more, grown
from meat in great discomfort, grubs
gnawing and i yank and pull and throw
I know someday they'll be beautiful ones










 

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