The allotment is modest, but
it's yours if you'll have it:
a dozen square yards of grass
blanketed in blue and white,
asphalt to one side & briars
to another, raspberries come
July. It spends most the day
in shade, sunlight just near
enough, with excellent views
of the old Keeper, the Hedge
& my brother's Black Walnut.
It isn't much, this patch of
flowers, but it's yours for
all you've done for me, for
everything I yet want from
you, in hopes it will call
you closer, a place that's
yours, like me, my distant
Knight of the Wild Violets.