The Garden

In the dark rich soil of words

If you have the time

You can write a poem of birds

Or the story of human kind

Food for the soul words have grown

But food for the body there is none

In their furrow seeds are sewn

Nourished by rays of the sun

Using words that flow from a hand

That is sterile and benign

Won’t help anyone understand

What the writer has tried to divine

So in that fertile soil of prose

Use passion and feeling and pride

You can make a simple red rose

Live the life of Bonnie and Clyde

©7/28/07Terry Sutherland

Sans Peur

Terry

Awarded 7/29/2007