What is hotter than the beating sun on an August afternoon,
What is richer than the lush,heavy, green of the garden- full of life, buttereflies, birds,bunnies and the slugs... oh, the slugs
Who is prized more than the gardener- laboring, watching, coaxing the soil's gift,
What brings more memories than the bittersweet rhubarb- summers and pies of the past,
Can this all be captured in a glass jar, placed on a shelf where it waits for winter and then it's promise is released, savored, uncomparable to what other things we call "food",
How grateful am I for the chance to share this taste, this season, this bounty
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Nice little kick-ass poem, if you don't mind me saying so.
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