I have a garden full of needs,
And jobs that must be done.
But in the act of garden deeds,
There’s a battle to be won.
For where I dig and plant my seeds,
And loving care bestow,
The victors always are those weeds,
Whatever I may sow.
I’m ready to go ‘natural’,
Throw out my rake and hoe.
Put up a sign ‘Organic’
and let the darn thing grow.
Not one plant shall weed be called,
Or insects named as pests.
Then animals will come to feed.
Whilst birds may build their nests
Of this one thing I’m very sure,
It wont look smart or neat,
But I’ll find rest midst chaos,
on a well worn garden seat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem