No One Can Rightly Call His Garden

We Come From The Earth, We Return To The Earth, And In Between We Garden.

From Sunny Woof And Cloudy Weft Fell Rain In Sheets; So, To Myself I Hummed These Hazard Rhymes, And Left The Learned Volume On The Shelf.

Perhaps A Maiden's Bashfulness Is More A Matron's Lesson Than Our Lips Aver.

In My Song You Catch At Times Note Sweeter Far Than Mine, And In The Tangle Of My Rhymes Can Scent The Eglantine.

The Glory Of Gardening: Hands In The Dirt, Head In The Sun, Heart With Nature. To Nurture A Garden Is To Feed Not Just On The Body, But The Soul.