Summer's Garden by Bobbi Sinha-Morey




In the cool wind of early
October I walk down to
last summer's garden,
morning glories twined
among rows of cornstalks
and up the ladders of leaves.
I hear them calling to me,
and I lean in to listen;
delicate little trumpeters
flaring their clarion tones,
pink as the inner lip of
a seashell, and I hear my
own heartbeat rise and fall,
a tide tugging me closer
so I can see each one
opening to the light, their
faith but a star etched across
their faces, rejoicing in their
manna from the sun, in their
day-to-day life.


by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Comments

  1. Beautiful poem that compliments perfectly the weather we've been having in England the last couple of days. Thank you!

    ReplyDelete

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