A Poem

Their farm grows ideas

even now

when they are settled in

tied down to the plants

like a mortgage or a bill.

 

It still feeds minds

tends spirits that come in

 interrupting sentences of their

lives, paragraphs of gardens.

 

And now, decisions must be

made, like weeds to be pulled.

The grass grows tall,

flowers will grow.

The grass grows tall,

flowers will grow.

– by Iris Fuchs