deepundergroundpoetry.com

SACRED GARDEN

this ordinary ground,
our weedy old Eden,
and this cathedral
of pine
and oak
and sycamore
and its bold choir,
and us,
priest and priestess,
holy in our ragged vestments,
king and queen
of fall harvests
and winter gardens,
our tired bones
griping at the knees,
and how
we push on,
ordinary,
perfect,
tending our sacred space,
and this prayer of thanks
welling up
like a vow
and whispered
in the ear
of god
for this good year ending
and more to come
amen
Author's Note
Actually, I don't know exactly who it is I thank, though I thank them often. There are woes and trials but all in all, it's perfect.
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