Girl bride, lady of poise and grace
Mother of provision
I'll have you not widowed just yet
You commence the morning stroll
across mulch paths
down to the chain fence
Passed the cypresses
passed the blooming privets
rosemary fragrance and busy birds
Stick in hand, you shake off spiders
You talk to every tree you've planted
every bush you've nourished
The wild flowers wave to you
The bees still scare you, though
No one is perfect, least perfect your husband
If you were more reasonable
He might not fall asleep during long winded concerts
Could the two of you but only speak without the moving lips.
Your back is straight, your arms are black
Your eyes flash brilliance day or sleepy
A pity you can not admit when he's right
This garden of yours is this also this garden of his
The rock garden is of your design
but he always imagined it the beach it glistens
In the Georgia highlands, yours and his
600 hundred miles from the oceanfront
as highways go, not as the crow flies
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