Open Garden Poem by James McLain

Each day, 'before I rest, she comes.
I must leave them behind on my pillow.
There between the mountains tops,
white clouds, the rain, the wind dried stains.
Here there is only the shady oak if it is in fact.
Florida has no apples trees it is a land of opportunity
if one aspires to the service industry and tourism.
No to chicken nuggets and the rest of the processed carcinogens
My daughter would but if I, 'eat only vegetables.
Will she have to educate her self?
Parents are but parents don't and the teachers toll of whom
are so very to yours and dedicated to being parents as well.
They may be your accident, your unplanned choice
your ruined figure, his inconvenience but tress still grow very deep
and live within the forest and you squat to piss as you look, ' I rise.
And the soft summer breeze listens to the sunny brook
as it sprinkles water across your hot face.
And as wide as it is narrow their across the flower opens
as it must and then the bee as well spreads pollen, come.
while invisible waves are like muscles in motion as the sea
moves in and out across your feet and toes.
Heavy-hinged your eye lids,
late risers miss the opening of the heavy budded roses.
And swaying the drapes hold out the sun it's yellow light.
For at high-noon
I heard from this same garden that more were on the way.