Poem: The Things Others Throw Away

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The Things Others Throw Away

They are imperfect,
this eggplant in your garden.
Not the stuff of garden magazines,
their color dulled by August heat,
their sides split from an early season
too perfect,
their growth too fast.

That perhaps is the wonder
of an ordinary garden,
the growth, the life that comes
from manure and rain,
from the things others throw away.

The difference between life and death is small.
A bit of care and maintenance.
A bit of love against the elements.
The grace to love the blemishes,
and wonder more at the magic
and rejoice at what is,
to see the beauty and imperfections
as one.

 

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