Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Sunday Night

He headed to his garden
His mind he meant to calm
The sights and smells abounded
And quickly he disarmed

He pulled the weeds with force
No trace he left behind
The beds grew clean and neat
No seeds could err he find

Carrots were the harvest
Red and orange and long
Their skin was crisp and tender
No one could speak their wrong

His arms he filled with color
Pollen strewn his shirt
Flowers of sun he'd cut
His wife he meant to flirt

He walked across the yard
And stepped into the house
She turned to see her love
The man she called her spouse

His always naked feet
Were stained with grass and blood
His pants were stained with brown
From kneeling in the mud

His breath was strong and bold
Fresh onion he had ate
He hadn't washed the fruit
Dirt splashed across his grate

But still she smiled sweetly
This man she dearly cared
She raised to kiss his lips
Her love she so declared

No one she knew was stronger
No one she knew more brave
The dirt and smells and blood
Did quickly she forgave

The two of them were rare
Their love a precious sight
Two hands our God had placed
On them that Sunday night


Blogger Chel said...

Beautiful! Makes me want to plant a garden!

3:26 PM  
Blogger Kyle said...

The dirt and smells and blood... i feel like thats how you always are...

3:49 PM  
Blogger Megan said...

Rarrrrrr!!!! Nothings better than a little garden porn......hey speaking of, can we start a farm now? Due to the rare coincidence that all of us are going to be unemployed in the upcoming week.....think about it.

4:27 PM  
Blogger Laura said...

Yes! The poem wasn't quite what i was thinking when I kissed you with the onion breathe but if you want to think that...well thats fine!

4:33 PM  
Blogger Melissa Blair said...

What a great poem! Fantastic writing!!

8:44 PM  

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