Yesterday's hands sculptured waves
furrowing rich soil into crops of brilliant greens and yellows.
Oft time yielding to the shortened seasons through faith
and into God's loving grace of transformation!
The crops are kissed from the heated sun,
then provided drink from the heavens,
developing into crops of golden harvest of wealth.
In the cooling breeze of the evening
Karl's ready for a practical joke and casting his dry wit into a
Song of laughter!
After the reward of a hard day's
work we converse in our flower garden
of a fulfilling paradise of hue filling its fragrance into the air.
White cats, dogs, and turkeys
follow Karl to the corral,
looking to visit Shilo and Champ as
a team of Belgians awaiting their carrots,
and contentedly dream to parade their majestic strength in rhythm.
Today I am weakened and health is poor
but I awaken into recovery,
and assert yesterday's hands into the morrow.
published: The Best Poems & Poets
Vote for this poem