Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Little Gourd

Little Gourd

I witnessed the plumpest gourd blossom
on its vine --
yellow, flower-topped, sere soul embedded
beneath backyard pine.

It didn’t need much sunshine.
Withered, bloom tapered brown, it dropped
after sundown, when ripening stopped.

Not cold, inert, slow shriveling
during our dry days. Dark veggie
inspired so much hope in those rays.
Lone, bright bell, detached,

hard-melded a be-pricked surface.
Silent glossed by eventual frost,
my heart sank somewhere around midnight.

It wasn't better in sunlight. Fewer gourds
appear each year, for an ignorant farmer
who still cannot conceive how he erred.
How much more could I have cared?

Not much I can do. Till, fertilize,
close the bed until spring. Plant again.

How long am I to toil before hope runs out
for a little gourd to feed from that stem?


11.24.22
Reap what you sow
My toil with words bears hopeful fruit appreciating with time.
It's really about raising my kids.

BOOK

Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋  (18+) 10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind #1149750 by He’s Brian K Compton