Under the Garden

Some Christmas cards came today,

And reading them broke the silence of a long day

Soaked in the black loam of Tara.

 

As I sit on the bottom of the garden,

I touch the hands of friends

A thousand miles away.

They are the ones in the mountains --

I am here fathoms deep in earth.

 

The rain is beating on my grave,

And it really doesn't matter

Whether I grow or not.

 

There are some nice people in the world.

Let's keep in touch.

-- Sally Clay
Christmas Eve 1988


*** Sharewrite 1988 Sally Clay ***
Permission is granted for personal distribution of this document
as long as it is unchanged in any way and this notice is included.
For permission to reprint it for general publication, contact me at
zangmo@sallyclay.net.


Back to Poems