Packing Cases Of Farmiliarity

We have a small garden, it's a picket fence patch, where the leaves are aglitter with silversoft dew. In the morning sun, sprinkles, oh so sweetly to match all the stars of our fragrance, the love that is you. It brings forth an assortment of veggies and fruit there are blushes inside, as your smile feeds each root. Tens of thousands of petals come fully alive, in the treetops, in silence, warm breezes arrive. So, with ladder and buckets, hands joined, we now pick heavy fruits of our labours and we taste and we lick. Deep inside we can savour the warmth and the glow as we hug we are closer and we watch our plants grow. And we tend to our garden, from late frost to high Fall, when the Brussel Sprouts harden and the corn still stands tall. When the snow paints our meadows and our root cellars hold 'mongst the cobwebs and shadows in the wintery cold jars of onions in pickle, tasty cheese melts, fondue four bare feet bound to tickle and new hunger for you. * * * * * * * Later, we look out our bay window...... And our birdbath is touching the cirrus cloud sky and what once did not matter, life's bright sparks now may fly. There is promise in bunches, found in long fertile rows as our compost recycles and new life surely grows. And each fruit core is health as its centre aligns, for in new season's wealth vital juice flavours shine. Bright red carrots, potatoes, Cauliflower and more, black and red big tomatoes don't compare to the store. And, whilst washing dries crisp above the old range we stroll out to pinch bums and for news to exchange. Over daily events, newborn lambs in the field and how peach becomes jam and how bottles are sealed. * * * * * * * * A new morning settles, as the hens lay us eggs there is strong coffee brewing, and our food makes strong legs.... As we sit in our garden, watching birds flutter by see the bees and the pigeons, tend to Nature's demands, making love to small petals by the warmth from the sky so that folks live in peace off the fruits of the lands. By the sweat of our brows will we toil our lives, leaving greed and all envy outside. Pollination means more to us husbands and wives let the folks on the land be your guide. We were sent from the Garden Of Eden to earth, not to battle and slay fellow man, how we wish for a change, for a sudden re-birth, it must surely have been the great plan. Holding hands, we just rest at the end of the day there is tenderness kissing our skin, little crumbs of dark soil on our shirts is okay (and a smudge of manure on your chin) . This is life as it surely was mean to be had we have each found a sweet precious soul, we turn up the old range in the kitchen a tad, almost time for the night's casserole. And we sit by the fire with our bowls of hot stew it's OUR patch we admire for our LOVE is dug through. Tis just part of our story we now stockpile for more, but our greetings say welcome come right in, through the door. * * * * * * * * We welcome all visits from poets and friends, we will serve to the moment the table top bends..... Come and share in our laughter and the cider we made, watch the cock in the rafters come and sit in the shade. And to those who consider to come back to our roots, let him be the first bidder for a pair of gum boots. Please excuse us, she's mooing as her offspring is due, a new calf will be cooing and our life starts anew. We have chosen to live, to immerse in our dream, where we take as we give and share peaches and cream. What is LOVE you may wonder, a mirage seldom found? We shall leave you to ponder, in for penny, for pound. Co-Production by: Emancipation Planz and Herbert Nehrlich © 2009