The Garden

My heart is a garden tired with autumn,

Heaped with bending asters and dahlias heavy and dark,

In the hazy sunshine, the garden remembers April,

The drench of rains and a snow-drop quick and clear as a spark;

Daffodils blowing in the cold wind of morning,

And golden tulips, goblets holding the rain --

The garden will be hushed with snow, forgotten soon, forgotten --

After the stillness, will spring come again?

Ladybug

When I was a child

Ladybugs would fly to me.

They would land on my arm

And whisper little secrets in my ear

Of things I would become:

A kind man
And gentle of mind,
A man of spirit
That could close great divides.

But I don't feel that big.
In fact, as I sit in the grass
And talk to you.
I feel like a tiny ladybug
On someone else's arm
And your ear is most important to me

© Time Inc.

For personal non-commercial use only photo by Margaret Bourke-White 1952

Dahlia photos: I took these pictures of my dahlias back around 1999-2000. jkb