My Gardener’s Poem


I wish I were a river

Self-powered, steady and true.

A force of nature between my banks,

No puny arm can undo.


Instead I am a water row

Furrowed by the corn.

The water starts right down the row

Then hits some leaves, so worn.


Papery leaves diverting my path!

I’m ashamed to admit such failing.

My walls are porous, mounds of dirt—

They breach at the tiniest draining.


But over time, these walls will harden,

My floor will become like cement.

I’ll use these puny arms to fix

The holes where the water went.


I’ll never be a river,

Abraham or  Moses, filled with might!

But if I can keep my walls built up–

The corn, my corn, will thrive.

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