Christopher Rowland Poet Rhyme

Plot of Garden

I spy the plot of dirt,
And contemplate its worth 

Covered with brambles and weeds,
Or planted with foods that I need

Will my work to prepare the soil,
Be rewarding enough for my toil

I decide the therapy of a garden,
Beats the devil’s bargain 

And so I rake and till,
Fertilize and fill

My hands massaging clods of dirt,
Such a bouquet has this earth 

I plot my rows,
For vegetables that I know

Poles imbedded for the beans,
Not enough space for pumpkins it seems

Each packet full of seeds,
The picture on its cover I can’t believe

From one tiny speck,
A bounty in pecks

I mark my rows and begin to plant,
Spacing each but the carrots I can’t 

They are like grinds from a mill,
But not as small as pickling dill

I have no patience for these to plant,
My fingers are simply too fat

Give me a bush bean or cucumber,
At least I can see these to put dirt over

My garden now laid out  and planted,
Waiting now for all to be sprouted

Then grow as I marvel,
At the value of my parcel 

Maybe not in dollars and cents,
But in the satisfaction it presents

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