Mark R. Elias
Mark R. Elias Poems
He serves a perfect border, measured tight -
Returned, a centre circle with a tree.
He hits back with some pebbles, grey and white -
They're met with flawless, luscious shrubbery.
A rose bush now, fed on a secret mix -
Returned, a feature pool with lilies, rocks.
Some sunflowers next, held up by whittled sticks -
Again, returned, a hand-carved squirrel box.
A table, chairs, refurbished to distressed -
A sundial angel, iron to the core.
A stretch of trellis, ivy all a-dressed -
A hedgehog mansion with a little door.
A corner bed ...
At A Pauper's Grave
Borne of the earth, return you now to earth.
Return you, yes, to welcome in the seed,
To sing the mighty flower into birth,
And green the grass for all its holy worth.
Your song's as good as anyone's. Indeed,
While you've no angel carved, no monument,
No lurid lasting testament to greed,
No sacred words some mason's hands to bleed,
You've soil to share, having known the same descent