While I was gardening

The art of gardening and the science of life.

Ancient

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Between Your fingers water falls,

clear and cold, bright.

Each drop is new, a constant.

Each drop is what remains.

 

Behind You tumbles all the light from daybreak

to the night.

Nothing more to You than light?

To me, all.

 

Between Your fingers water falls,

pure and wild, stark.

Ample as the day this water reflected back at You.

Reflected back before its capture.

I cannot halt its fall.

 

Behind You dances drops of light

Sharp upon a dimming hour.

Old as prayer, wild in motion,

light moves away from me uncaptured.

It does not touch the void.

 

Between Your fingers water falls,

clear and cold, bright.

Apparent in its flowing movement

one word teased from unvoiced thought

from which fear grants no stay.

I look ahead to follow laughter,

Job echoes back.

 

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Author: dphare2014

Horticulturist, Lead Steward Carkeek Park Demonstration Gardens, Author

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