My Garden

Just a simple poem

My garden is naught
but here a pot, there a pot
They line my windows
with plants in green crescendoes

Zucchinis are a fierce splendor
crawling over edges like defenders
of some village where potatoes live
What wonders my seeds did give

A very sweet man has a box
where he grows potatoes...he is a fox
He gave me a bag of spuds
right from amidst vines and buds

A woman who cannot hear my chatter
gave me basil cut for drying
Then she planted in my pot a plant
which is growing like a weed...oops

Arugala was donated by a sweet old gal
who took it right out of the earth with her trowel
Such goodwill is wrapped in gifts of green
and we trade what we have in between

My scrawny cherry tomato bushes
have blossomed due to my pushes
I have eaten four red little gems
and wait for more from other stems

On payday will come some pots more
and potting soil from the same store
Seeds for winter gardening are on their way
Planting them will be a celebration day

Growing gives me the greatest pleasure
I dig with my hands to tend every treasure
For the Lord gave us the gift of rebirth,
nowhere is it more evident than on the earth