Like the farmers who are watering their crops,
I go out into the yard after heating up my coffee
And turn on the sprinkler:
My garden may not be weeded,
But at least it’s watered;
Plus the sprinkler fills the birdbath,
Where the deer family that greets me
As I head back into the house
Will refresh themselves throughout the day.
Like me, they’re getting older:
The buck’s face is thickening
And growing freckled,
And the doe, who knows us now,
Is looking thin, and there are patches in her hide:
I wonder if perhaps this fawn will be her last.
The sky, I see now, returning to my chair;
The sky that was golden when I rose,
Is turning blue now:
The day has begun.
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