I wish I could send you more. The Appeal
says every little counts. Does it?
I'm trying to imagine what it's like
for you. Nothing grows. While I dig up
fat, floury potatoes; pick podsful of peas,
leafy green spinach and bunches of herbs
I wish I could send you.
My trees are laden with ripening apples
In fields all around, grain's turning to gold
I wish I could send you more. For your children.
I wish I could send you the rain
quietly, gently here and now falling
and the rich, caramel smell
of the earth. After.