Poem: Garden Sonnet

Love is not an economic trade
To budget out amongst the souls we meet;
There is no finite number to be made
Nor capital lost trading in the street.
 
A garden, rather, tended by our souls
Love grows, and spreads, and dies, and sprouts anew;
Organic crops to make our spirits whole
In infinite varieties and hues.
 
And every garden has its border walls,
Where different kinds of plants need thrive apart;
Where care is given to where the leaves may fall,
And vines cut back to not engulf the heart.
 
     But your love's roots reach deep and boughs reach high,
     Forever shelter from the burning sky.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s