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If I Were a Gardener
If I were a gardener I’d worship shape and color,
make paintings with petals and light.
But I don’t know what I am doing.
Needing to clear a 60-yr muddle,
I pull weeds without stopping, yank the tops.
I clip the woody stems too low, too high. I am on a tear.
Insects interest me; I let them eat the roses. Likewise the slugs.
If I Were a Gardener
If I were a gardener I’d worship shape and color,
make paintings with petals and light.
But I don’t know what I am doing.
Needing to clear a 60-yr muddle,
I pull weeds without stopping, yank the tops.
I clip the woody stems too low, too high. I am on a tear.
Insects interest me; I let them eat the roses. Likewise the slugs.
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