Between hope and loss is harvest time,
When work to conquer weed is done.
And there before my eyes are plants
I nursed to life last spring.

With swollen fruit now dyed
In brazen hues by unknown hand,
I see tomatoes bleeding
Red through flowing vines
Astride the peppers, orange and green,
While nearby purple aubergine,
Reflecting back the waning light
Preen ripe in sweet repose;
And mocking all my early fears,
Hang tight to stem,
As if to say, “We told you so.”

A just reward for time forever lost,
The fruit yields gently to my soft skinned hand
From hardened earth.  And grateful
For the bounty just before the final frost,
I halt my work in moment solitaire,
As prayers of thanks rise sharply in my blood.

- Finding the Light of G‑d, page 133