by Doreen Hopwood

Fork in hand, I kneel on my pad
diligently turning the earth.
Loamy soil crumbling between
my fingers, I gently tumble a soft,
protective blanket over precious seeds,

faithfully nurturing them, meeting their
every need, shading them from sun,
thinning out in puberty, for adolescent
plants can be too leggy, too uppity,
needing a gardener's steady hand.

I am ruthless in defence of my flowers,
every ready with rake and hoe, brooking
no nonsense from greedy, insolent,
freeloading weeds. I am Kali,
bringer of birth, bringer of death,

maker of compost, Mother Earth
enjoying my garden, singing songs
to lost ladybirds, welcoming bumble bees,
and calling birds home to roost
in my trees.

©2011, Doreen Hopwood