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The peace of the garden

This piece of land is steeped in so much peace.

I walk as bountiful as Ceres
beneath the mossy orchard trees
with bowls of gold and purple plums
plump with juice and sunshine,
while fallen apples glint among the grass.

In evenings loud with calling crickets
we watch while sunset splendor fades,
twilight dwindles over silhouetted hills
and stars emerge one by one.
I feel the rhythms of the turning earth:
rising sap in springtime, autumn leaf fall,
flowing tides and fleeting cloud formations
sinking through my heart to grant me peace.
I might believe I've found my private piece of heaven.


But as I watch the winking lights of planes
My shadowed soul protests of waste:
this house could ring with shouts of local children,
we could leave that plane awaiting passengers.
It seems we will not find our perfect peace
in this too-troubled world.

 

by Sylvia Neumann

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