Broccoli

The season’s cycle is a breathing

Its heave and sigh evolving over time

Each moment born out of the last

A mise en abyme recursively unfolds

 

This garden needs a resurrection

Its former fettle frivoled with neglect

The founding family outcast

The season’s cycle is a breathing

Its heave and sigh evolving over time

Each moment born out of the last

With care, the garden will restore itself

Be still, attend: intuit what it needs

This harvest will be unsurpassed

The flora murmurs potential it withholds

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing

Its heave and sigh evolving over time

Each moment born out of the last

A mise en abyme recursively unfolds

 

The forebears knew the shifting weather

Their wisdom honed through ages handed down

A depth of practice long amassed

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing

Its heave and sigh evolving over time

Each moment born out of the last

 

The fern fronds shimmer in the hollows

The southern face absorbing warmth and light

Exuding whispers of the past

The tweet chorus chimes: here once were orange groves

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing

Its heave and sigh evolving over time

Each moment born out of the last

A mise en abyme recursively unfolds

 

Behold brassica oleracea

Its growing wild, thriving and vigorous

So here a new bed will be cast

 

The season’s cycle is a breathing

Its heave and sigh evolving over time

Each moment born out of the last

 

Enough of patient observation

I need to sink my fingers in the loam

And toil in practice of my craft

Prepare to release the life this garden holds

The season’s cycle is a breathing

Its heave and sigh evolving over time

Each moment born out of the last

A mise en abyme recursively unfolds