When childish forces
Played with
Earth until it broke,
God spoke in
Aromas of dust and
Crumbled stone,
Left each alone to
Pick a way
Down rocky scrubble,
Down promontory or
Black cave--
Some immense trouble,
Some offense.
I forget what story
He gave, what
The problem was.
One is
A gardener and does
What a gardener does.
"The problem was.
ReplyDeleteOne is
A gardener and does
What a gardener does"
So, is THAT it? Somehow, as a lifelong teacher I used to feel that over-reigning relationship, but I have come to realize it ain't so. And you?
As a response to chiliasm or any oppression that leaves a blasted land, I suppose THAT is indeed it. A gardener works with remainders. We're not hired for our brains.
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