It is, again, that time of year
When all good men go digging.
I say good men, but then again,
Not all good men know digging;
It all depends upon the likes
Or dislikes in the genes,
And if you love your onions
Your carrots and your greens.
I love to wield that trusty blade
And slot it in the earth,
To dig and delve as if my life
Depended on it's worth;
Cracking up the clay-clods
And fracturing the frost,
Knowing that come forth the spring
All will be worth the cost.
Oh yes, it is that time to be
Re-nourishing the soil,
By digging in the compost
Unheeding of the toil;
Of chopping in the annual weeds
And bulking up the loam,
Then cleaning off your wellingtons
'Fore setting off for home.
And so, to those who do not dig
To put food on their table,
Wise up, and buy yourself a spade,
Go dig, if you are able.
(Written Oct 2013)
Nice poem, wish I had a garden only got a balcony, but managed to grow runner beans.
What a wonderful feeling to get my hands in the soil and plant. I love my garden. This summer I had the best crop of tomatoes ever. I also had okra, green beans, lettuce and green and red peppers. And of course, so many different flowers. Sometimes the work gets hard, but it's worth it. Great poem.
wow, its real and amazingly refreshing. loved it. a 10 for it. please read some of my poems and comment. :)
For poems such as these I dig Rustic in setting with an earthy feel But we now live with modernity wigs That with basic elemental soil won't deal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I enjoyed the read John and don't mind a bit of digging myself.