PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

For reasons that are not quite clear to me,

from dawn to dusk, a multitude of feet

(some sandalled, and some booted, and some bare;

but all seeming to haste) had come to pass

over our neatly trimmed and nourished grass

(and one of them, they say, was the high priest).

Jerusalem admires your garden, sir,

as next in glory to Eden of old.

Spring has opened and fragranced your fine flowers

with lots of sunlight and brief, gentle showers.

And I have given them the utmost care.

This is the finest of your property

(and it will not, I hope, be too soon sold;

just my opinion).  But, to say the least,

those temple guards cannot explain the stone,

moved:  they dismiss it as "persons unknown,"

but that is just political deceit

provided by the scribes and pharisees,

who say and do whatever they might please.

Although, for this day, this thought is too late:

perhaps you will condier a locked gate,

a single entrance through a thick, high fence,

preventing any more trespasses hence.

They tell me that an early visitor

was thought to be myself, the gardener.

Who said that must have been badly mistaken:
I was asleep; nor could, that early, waken.