by Mary E. Lowd
Summer, 2001
A wise Sage walked in a yard
Eating of the berries that there grew,
They tempted with color black,
They taunted with taste
Sour as were they green.
The Sage ate unheedingly.
Finishing of her turpentine supper,
The sage, triumphant, announced
“The world is benevolent, the last berry is ripe.”
Walking away content, she found a thorn in her sandal.
* * *
From the book: Some Words Burn Brightly: An Illuminated Collection of Poetry
Next poem: Broken Shells
Previous poem: In the Room