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Succulent and Sweet

The fresh mint and the shepherd’s crook
The innocent look in the dog’s protective nip
Drops glistening off the young white fleece
The whistle of the wind through the thistles
Around the black and thorny basalt rock.

Growing to fatten off the succulent sweet grass
To fill our stew pots
With the rich smell of roasting lamb gravy.


Ezra Ben-Meir, History:   #289, November 1983
©- This poem, with acknowledgment as to source,  may be used for non-commercial purposes.

Contact me for comments or printing at, ezrabm@gmail.com  

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