Sedge grass, unwanted there,
it terrorized my uncle's garden,
blemishing the neatly ordered rows
of cauliflower and cabbage,
tomatoes, beans and beets.
He would till from dawn to dusk,
his angled back at odds with the
concision of his spade;
his way of giving thanks,
the Yorkshire Dales his place of worship.
The ordinariness of standing water
puddled, reflecting sweat and struggle.
Freshly turned,...
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