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No longer content with a proper
head of cabbage offered in
conviviality, a few pilfered potatoes
and a bunch of fingerling carrots;
he desires a stew from your bones.

Nothing is more necessary than God
with a watering can, spilling seeds
from his bib as if they would grow
into rows of children who love him.

Grief shovels a hollow in your side,
takes up an interminable residence
and you must make room for him.

His shadow withers. There are brown
spots in the lawn where he roams.
The tender grasses cannot hold him.
Hessians parade the mezzanine.

Good one. I love the closing 2 lines. I like S3 a lot as well…the idea of grief taking up residence is fab.

Thanks Bob

I have to read this a couple of more times.I did not get the first stanza,though.

Sivakim thanks for reading.