And in the morning, the peppers
Still hadn’t bloomed
In the shadow
of the Bradford Pear.  

The earwigs still feasted
On the basil leaves
To the delight of the robins
Which again feasted on them.  

The cucumbers still hadn’t climbed
The trellis but made their bed
In the storm-sopped soil
Just like the night before.  

I ask again,  
and the Kale lifts its leaves toward the sun.