By the cold,
	Gray damp,
	I long for April,
	For the warm sun
	And the smell
	Of the garden.
	The gentle earth
	Pulls my cares
	From me
	And transforms them
	Into living goodness,
	Lovely blossoms,
	Luscious fruits
	And vegetables.
	Should be like that,
	Draining stress
	And worry
	From united souls,
	Giving back
	Love, joy, and serenity.
	But I must
	Labor in my garden,
	My squash and beans
	Are the happiness
	I seek
	But seldom find.


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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