Saturday, May 10, 2014

As any king finds on his knees

The path, shaded, the wall, imagined,
and here, neath a mossy stone sacred to your vow,

unmoved till now, an unsung Easter new to tell,
of a child you knew so well, and have seen,

and will show, his heart and hand to soil,
his dreams a joyful caravan of mold,

each their smell rich as any king
finds on his knees,

your sturdy trowel,
his gardening.

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