The Business of Gardening

Some people sell their soul
for a handful of dirt,
With this I become a gardener.
In Autumn I tend my garden
burying an array of bulbs,
insular as Winter sets in
last seasons individual dies.
On sharing a sacred heart
as fern fronds slowly unfold, I
rotate layers under sunshine
while stem and petal scent
a pairing, I returned that dirt
knowing my value. Vivid colour
cutting blue skies, I become
a bird opening my wings
and taking flight, returning dust
to soil. Don’t talk to me
about anything but the earth,
the sunshine and the sweet taste
of honey. I became a gardener
knowing, Spring brings renewal.

(c) A Hannan

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