Tuesday, 1 June 2010


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.



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