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Poet of the Week Gray Gardener

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Jonathan Herold

Posted: Friday, January 4, 2013 7:16 am

Sometimes I forget you have gone

back home to that higher place,

above the minute mayhem,

in which I count on

your way.

I wish you could see me now.

Harvesting the plans you planted

in me as proud and patient Gardener.

I’ve learned to sow my spirit’s soil,  

prune for budding expectations.

Sometimes I stare the door to splinters

waiting for you, gray grandfather,

to pass within the hour,

ripe and running

my way.

I wish you could see me now.

Reaping all the rows you tilled

before the callous winter’s scythe

won you and your winding hands,

before my sprouts could season.

Sometimes, I wish you could see me. Now,

as I toil to tend these fresh fields,

I look back on you, gray Gardener,

and know that you have formed me

this way.



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