Above our house the ancient maple spreads
Its branches wide to shade in shadow all
That falls below: Perennials in reds
And blues and, wearing muted greens, a small
But stubborn bed of hostas which we’ve done
Our careless best to kill through sad neglect.
A hum of bees floats lazy in the sun.
Loud squirrels voice their chattered, shrill objections
While the boys play fetch with Chesterton,
And on the table here: John Bunyan’s Grace
Abounding, Baker Street tobacco in
My pipe, two fresh-poured hazy IPAs —
All gifts our Maker made and gave to fill
The earth with joy. Just pause, and take your fill.
© 2020 Josh Bishop
