Rhinos with out horns don't rampage but one runs the Rota-tiller in my garden of emotions. The frog stopped croaking now he sings "Summertime" (the Sam Cook version,) the tadpoles love it. Just sitting on a fence, blue Jay is looking at Robin's Red Breast and longing for the chickadee from last summer. In my emotional garden I can't grow calm but the Rhino has, retired from rampaging he spends time at the library and reads Neruda in spanish. Es la ballena verde del verano. It's the ebb of the flow. Rain rises to the moon. At the end of my pot of gold I am looking for rainbows. |