They watched me carefully,
fluttering in my cage, pointing at my hair.
"how fierce" said the old man with the crooked teeth.
I pressed my clawed hands against the solid bars,
widening my yellow eyes.
"no, not fierce." said the old woman with the cane.
Her leather face turned upwards, smiling,
the skin, stretching like it had not practiced that action,
in a very long time.
"how free."

We were so right for each other,
like the sun
and the
moon,
but our timing was off,
and the sun had to rise too soon.

You may see a vacant lot
Where a building has burned down
But I see a garden spot
With flowers growing all around.
And maybe a bench to sit
A take a while to appreciate
What can be done by people
With loving energy to dedicate.

You may see an empty field
Overrun by neglect and weeds.
But, I see a garden here,
And care is really all it needs.
Maybe some cutting back
And of course, a lot of water.
But time and compassion
Is what will ultimately matter.

Realtors may calculate
The money to make from this land
But, I see a garden
That needs some helping hands.
Maybe some cows can graze
Or a pretty little babbling brook.
A place of nature’s bounty
Like out of a wonderful storybook.

Do we need one more store,
Or one more fast food restaurant?
Maybe some serenity is
What people of the world really want.
Some may see a patch of dirt
And not much more than fallow earth.
As for me, I see a garden.
A bit of paradise right here on earth.

(This was written for and about Bette Midler.)