My Computer
It is
inanimate
a storehouse of knowledge
awakes from silent slumber by
A Mouse
Keyboard
questions - answers
treasured information
orchestrated, by of all things
A Mouse
Outside the Garden Fence
The garden is divided
for those who wish to plant,
whether flowers or vegetables,
it's up to them, I grant.
I am not a gardener,
but wanting to do some good,
I volunteered to help
in whatever way I could.
The garden is enclosed
by fences all around
and there was need for watering
so a job, for me, I found.
They sent me to this section
“Outside The Garden Fence”,
there were flowers there,
that needed care,
the area was quite dense.
I arrived early in the
morning,
the sun was bright and hot.
I started the water flowing,
and began tending to my plot.
The flowers smiled, nodding happily,
as I watered them so snappily.
They told me that they were aware,
that I was giving them their food
and, oh, how it made them feel so good.
They whispered and laughed to
each other,
not one flower seemed to pout.
The birds, the bees, even squirrels came to see
what the carrying’s-on was all about.
The wind was lazily passing by
as the flowers fluttered to and fro,
and now that I have finished my task,
I guess it is time for me to go.
I’ve learned from the flowers
that it makes very good sense,
to water them, even though they live,
just ”Outside The Garden Fence”.
The Courtyard Fountain
The day is filled with low waves of
sound,
as billowy clouds in the sky abound,
and I feel mother nature's peace around.
I sit on the terrace and view the scene,
the courtyard's shrubs are many shades of green,
a two-tiered fountain nestled in-between.
The jet atop shoots water from above
to tiers below, it lures a lonesome dove.
The sunshine hits the water as it drops
like sparkling diamonds, down below it plops.
Then little birds perch on the tiers to play,
splashing and having fun in their own way,
they chatter amongst themselves, what do they say?
The sun has moved, now sinking in the west,
and the birds have flown back to their nest,
while the little fountain flows on, without a rest.
Poems written by Beulah Silverman,
a resident of The Highlands at Wyomissing
