Holidays are like well-tended gardens:
Apart from Nature's garland for the Earth.
Precious days come often in the wild.
Priest-trees meditate in silent love.
Yet we must be digging in our gardens,
Hallowing with our hands the flesh of Earth,
Or weeding out the remnants of the wild,
Leaving the lush blossoms of our love.
In love we sweat to cultivate our gardens,
Decking out the glories of the Earth.
All days are holy--designate or wild,
Yet some we make more memorable through love.
So may our gardens bless this wild Earth |
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