I kneel on warm ground by loaded rows
Of small green peas that my garden grows,
Feeling a kinship with summer and God
Each time I pick a ripe, green pod.
In my kitchen I hull away
The covering from my food bouquet,
Exposing small jewels of sparkling hue,
Bits of warm sunshine and parts of dew
That shimmer like jade in a showcase.
Canning green peas is not commonplace
But something like conquering Venus or Mars,
When I store the summer away in clear jars.
Of small green peas that my garden grows,
Feeling a kinship with summer and God
Each time I pick a ripe, green pod.
In my kitchen I hull away
The covering from my food bouquet,
Exposing small jewels of sparkling hue,
Bits of warm sunshine and parts of dew
That shimmer like jade in a showcase.
Canning green peas is not commonplace
But something like conquering Venus or Mars,
When I store the summer away in clear jars.
~ Ruth B. Field
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