Shake some sod. Poke a hole.
The smell of dirt soothes my soul.
I’m grateful for my garden land,
There is a flower in my hand.
If I was a bug, so small,
That flower would be very tall.
My roof- yellow, orange or red,
On soft petals I’d lay my head..
What an atmosphere is this!
The world disappears. I am not missed.
“Hi” to the butterflies, ants and worms.
On my knees, I’ve much to learn.