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