Where is Wisdom Born?

The Crape Myrtle is troubled,
laden with masses of promise;
just showing bits of hot rose color;
lonely in the rising sun's shadows.
She seems to be waiting,
spreading over the mulched bed
where rainbow seedlets of Portulaca
sprout around the gray boards
of an abandoned old kitchen chair;
weighing heavy with a blue
morning glory; ready to burst
with the blue of a Montana sky.
The old Indian remedy of Comfrey Leaf,
its white blossoms legendary,
lays heavy in the morning dew.
The Feng Shui stone is wondering
where it should be
and the concrete Japanese lantern
is a hodge podge collection
of castaways
including a grinding wheel.
A grinding wheel
suddenly seems inappropriate
for a Japanese Lantern . . .
The Crape Myrtle is wise.
-Joy S. Barefoot