That Way and Not Some Other Way By: Cecile Spence

I looked on the erosion of the soil,
Happiness brought sadness.
Strange but true.

How could Plump,Glaze, and mellow,
Becomes withered and ugly.
Gardener pique by the garden
Suddenly packed, tree expanded,
Yea right... by Self.
The blossoms progresses profusely.
Sixteen weeks...Eight weeks left to pick.
Soundless,

In despair, the pumpkin held onto the vines.
Smile with the sun, clouds, moon also starlights.
The weight of water cascaded on the outside skin.
Impression on the garden,
Expressed pain but fearless.

Tormented by the savage beast,
Tired from the grind,
Restless of hassle.
The movement inside.
Gave courage to persevere.

The garden, bloom, gloom, grows.
I was moved, marveled, appalled.

How could it be?
Once upon a time,
No blossom ...just one stem,
The Gardener cherished.
How enlightened.
Vines ran thoroughly, through and through.
Placed on a Pinnacle.
Pulchritude,
Effulgent,
Goddess,
Immaculate.

The Gardener importuned.
Features changed,
beauty flee,
choose me
twenty four weeks
Please...
Please...
I pled to thee
Sway my side, time
Love...
Decide.

Again you will glow,
I shall follow,
Now de-beauty, dull dampened.

The Garden choose,
Eight vines,
Eight Eyes,
Four stem,
That truly, beautifully, blossoms.
That way and not some other way.