PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I keep the garden in pristine condition.

And my employer, Joseph, likes the way
I cultivate the several plants and flowers.
From time to time, he spends his leisure hours
relaxing here; and even had a tomb
carved from the large stone outcrop in the middle.
Errands took me away, three days ago:
returned, just last night, to Jerusalem.
Before the dawn (many blossoms in bloom,
unusually ), and all throughout the day,
all sorts of people hurried in and out
(so many, Joseph should have charged admission).
I have not asked yet what all the commotion
might mean, or why the rushing to and fro.
Perhaps someone has had some kind of vision.
Some of them seem disturbed, as if some riddle
they cannot solve has brought utmost distress.
Some skulk around as if to raise suspicion.
Some priests have stood there ranting---all of them,
shouting shrilly, fists shaking.  None the less,
my questions would offend them.  I will stay
apart, and watch without the slightest notion
of what all this excitement is about.
Surely, Joseph will tell me:  he must know.

Starward