Gardener at Heart - Book Two

At Play

A stone lies on its chest among the herbs,

As smooth and square as part of an old beam,

A fossil of a barn, a noun whose verbs

Are tulips growing close; and highlights gleam

On rich dark-purple petals, almost black;

One drowsy flower head, yet to expand,

Is hanging down above the stone’s warm back,

A blown and painted egg in a dancer’s hand—

A cat in striped pajamas comes to play;

Bright-eyed, it lifts a small blackberry paw

And taps that tulip’s cheek and makes it sway,

And taps it back twice more, with never a claw,

    A kid with a balloon—then tilts an ear

    And skips hence, leaving someone laughing here.

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