Crocus blossoms

Crocus blossoms

Envy, as a sin,
Didn’t make it to the Big Ten –
Though it did make the Big Seven.
It took some time.
In the Big Ten
It feeds, I guess, the sin
Of coveting.

I rarely sense it, but
It’s hard to tell
If it’s so rarely resident
Within my soul,
Or if it’s so ensconced in me
That I can’t separate it
From the background noise
Of my existence
Until it’s fed by circumstance
Or magnified by need.

Still, on a busy Monday, I confess,
As I admire the violet blossoms
Of the crocus rising from the soil,
I envy it.

Not for its beauty, though I might,
For surely Solomon in all his glory
Lacked its glorious array!

No, it’s the profusion
Of the day: the calls, the mail,
The words, the code,
The questions answered
And the questions still unanswered,
Turn and turn and turn about.

Amidst all this,
I tender my confession:
I envy you, sweet crocus,
That all you need to do today
Is grow. 

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