To Eve

On a Sunday afternoon
In my garden
'neath the old apple tree,
Which I planted,
My daughter and I sit,
Rocking in our garden chairs,
We spin little yarns,
Fresh and hopeful,
Spring breeze full of expectations
And nature 's greening everywhere,
Everything around us
Is so full of the the vigor
Of blooming and growth,
My daughter's voice
Gentle, ever so gentle,
Long lashes, old Semitic eyes,
Warm all-knowing,
The ancient eyes of my people
In a youthful, fresh face,
Telling me
On a Sunday afternoon
In my garden,
That all is well with the world.

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2006 Alfred Charasz