(I)

The Sage That Thyme Forgot

The herbs are doing well on the small patch
of earth’s cultivated floor we call a kitchen garden
close by our side door.
Upright oregano remains bold refusing to give way
to marjoram’s ground-hogging play.

Dark green and gracefully slender,
the chives hold their own in prominent display,
at once close, alive and tender.
The recently planted parsley, yet no bounding mister,
is of little threat as it struggles to keep up with cilantro,
its thriving kid sister.

Only the sage and thyme are in full bloom,
the Zane Grey purple of the sage blossoms ride high
and spiky against the leaves of silver green.
In contrast, the thyme is low to the ground and round,
a geometric half-sphere, the many clover blossoms,
lavender-like, crowding together, as if to hide
the small leaves.

The sage and thyme embrace one another,
providing beauty to the eye and a welcome
taste to the tongue but each can stand alone,
one to the other, no clone.

In the herbal world, sage and thyme can forget
each other and still thrive.
In the verbal world of thought and mind, however,
only one view can survive:
No sage is born instantly, mature and sublime.
To be wise takes time.

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