Green is the sky and all the lights of heaven Are peeking eyes, up to us in given blossoms Of the flowering clover and bright are new daisies, Wee sparks of fire who squad, roams of butterflies And bees on bouncing airstruck mission waysides, The shot stems of wildlings breech, lancing into sky.
I am the gardener with suns aborning in my eyes, To pull the weeds wildly and declare all is garland, I hear trumpet of bindweed, see hearts in the leafs Of coltsfoot, crowns in the thistle, tapestries, vines For dress of hair and eye and walls on cottage dry, Are lovemakes true and keepsakes of joyous times.