Visiting gardens this morning,
like the neighborhood cleric
making parish calls,
I chat with peonies,
poppies and fragrant heliotrope,
and hope I carry contagions
of helpfulness to other flowers.

As I continue my quiet talk
I’m weighted with gifts,
gifts like cherished gold which
I share along my route,
thankful that the proverbial
pleasant words are as a
honeycomb, sweet to the
soul, and health to the bones.