I will not chase
After the snake
That relentlessly evades

I will attend
Again and again
To the growth in the garden

I will not pick
At the leaves
Before they are brown for falling

Nor will I pluck
At the fruit
That is not yet ripe and ready

I will till
And gaze from the sill
At morning dew
As sunlight spills
Over life
That begins to thrive
And calls me back
When it is time

To reap, finally
What I sowed, toiling
Waiting patiently
Until it is ready for me

Poetry

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