Garden, Newly Dug

Rain falls upon my garden, newly dug.
A robin, quite unmindful of the rain
Cocks her pert head and listens for
the worm turning.
Afternoon tea, for robins, in my garden newly dug.

Newly dug gardens, a patch of rich brown in green field.
Only the gardener sees the blues, pinks and yellows,
Smells the sweet scents, sees the patterns that hope and labour
And Mother Earth will yield.

The gentle rain falls softly through the night.
Only the worms that robins didn’t catch
Can see the seedlings and little roots absorb,
Swell, grow and outreach as upwardly they stretch,
Become the incarnation of the dream
The Gardener holds in mind.

The Essence of All Gardens floats above
The life forms in my garden, newly dug.
I know the Romance of Far-off Places
As I attend the jewels of other climes.
Lilies and peonies and morning glories,
Delphiniums, nasturtiums and redbuds.
Roses, whether tea or floribunda–
Monkshood, bee balm, herbs of ancient times.
The sailing ships that brought these gems from China,
Or Africa or Europe never knew,
That they spread hope and beauty to New Gardens,
So each of us could grow our own small Kew.

June Maginley, May 1991

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