Early Harvest

Hollyhock high as a house,
yapping dog smaller than parson's shoes.
Gray wall of fog mutes
the pink tiles and garden whistler.

To grow things is to know things.
But I've assumed too much
having met my first atheist corn rower.

Not for me to prove seeds swelling to fruit
are for courage as much as cobbler.
Talking to dirt a comfort 
to being born of dust.

Scarecrow's got some sense.
Looking up for rain. It comes
with or without praying,
can't argue that.

Takes a certain talent to ignore
miracles. Imagine the poems
I could write
if this whole world
were up to me.
Will Schmit1 Comment