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