Let’s turn over a new leaf,
And become what we’ve always felt
We ought to be:
Committed gardeners.
Not that it’s a great sacrifice
To put magic seeds
In the fertile soil
And let them transform before our eyes
Into upward-striving tender plants.
Nor is it so burdensome
To lend a hand
By airing occasionally their snug beds,
Quenching their thirst on hot days,
And trimming their excess curly locks.
In short, as those primal mystics understood,
Gardening is an act of love.
It is also the best, perhaps only, means
Of restoring to our discordant hearts
The sacred rhythm of Eternal Life.
Jerusalem
25 March 1992