Echinacea

The echinacea is sprouting, some already purple;
The mulberries are half ripe, and half white.
The daisies are coming out in large numbers---
Some spring flowers are growing,
The veronica, and the wild strawberries.
Today is Father's Day, and dad makes bread
In the kitchen, as my brother's coming over.
The chicories have not sprouted;
The tomatoes are sprouting their orange florets
In the pottage we bought early this summer.
Some green fruits are hanging on the branch.
The Triune is seen late at night; soon to arise.

I write this poem last night, as strife occurs in the kitchen:

"Things fall apart.
"We both forebode.
"You do provide.
"Simple words; best
"Words. I love you."

The zucchini is little shoots, but my dad pruned it
And the tomatoes, their foliage
In the pot, decaying to the roots.
We need pruned to grow healthy and strong,
Yet one day we die, and our bodies become the feed
For the roots of grass. 
But hopefully long and happy life precedes it;
For there is nothing better here
Than to eat, drink, and enjoy your labor under the sun;
To grow, to drink, to knead, to shepherd.