Nothing given can be stolen

I asked the Lady River why

furred in green leaf, robed in sky

she went along with tresses pinned

with glints of shells along their wend.

In lilac, bistre, peach, and wine,

celadon and cream most fine--

Why jealously adorn the stream

where sunlight glints and gold carp teem?

You do not understand, said she,

My waters hold no jealousy

for I'm a master of my trade--

polishing the shines God made.

This beauty, offered for the taking,

I give. I had no part in making.

Be my banks stone dry or swollen

nothing given can be stolen.

Of the Beetle

In belled depths of that blue blossom
petite vermilion beetle spotted black
bears the burden of the blessed pollen's
verdant promise on his dainty back.

Down straight stalks and up again

from bell to bell he makes his way

and sweetly sleeps inside a flower

at the closing of each day.

Blossoms pay him with their nurture.

By petals from the spiders hidden

he conjures flowers of the future

where by nectar he is bidden.

Of Chicory

For coffee's sake, I mean to dig the chicory

but when time comes to dig, I can't.

Too in love am I with the tenacity

of that midsummer heat defying plant.