Today's poem is by Linda Pastan
When the garden reached perfection,
it was time to lock the gates
behind them. Never mind
apportioning blame: animals,
flowers, all conspired at endings.
If the world remained a mystery,
they would do their best,
and worst, to solve it. This
was a place of want and weather:
serpentine the roots and rivers.
After years of cultivation,
earth mimics that first
perfection: grasses glow
and apples ripen. Time again
to lock the gates behind them.
Copyright © 2004 Linda Pastan All rights reserved
from New Letters
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved