Signs

Watchful, I spy the first buds,
now only the flower's potential,
one day, soon - the fruit.

Impatient, I come here
again, again each day
to measure progress in the budding leaf

or to catch
the lemon in the act of ripening,
quince in mid-blossom,
almond in leaf.

Wait, small heart.
It lingers; wait.
The signs are sure
though August is fickle and eyes are sore.
And God has granted each beauty its day;
rest your eyes on this
today.

Published by Matthew Pullar

Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.

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