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The Gardener’s Hope

Another year, it turns around.    

Harsh twigs are spearing from the ground   

Instead of those ripe rasps and plums, or

Other fruits that came in Summer.

The garden sleeps, and knows no more.

While humans cower behind closed doors,

And barely chance to venture out

(Except to harvest brussels sprouts).

The winds blow cold, like breath of doom.

But God, and nature, know that – soon –

New warmth will come, with sprouting weeds.

It’s time, right now, to order seeds!

And all the wisest gardeners know,

That – if you’ve let your garden grow,

Until it really looks a mess –

Those wild wee critters like it best!

Hedgehogs, fieldmice, little ones

Await the coming of the sun            

Asleep in hollows you have made.

For mercy, forks and hoes were stayed.

There’s one tradition, forged by me.

On Christmas Day, I go and see

The last few, late rasps on the Plot.

I harvest them and, like as not,

My cat will see, and choose to go

Alongside me, come rain or snow.

Where Reiver runs, the ground will shake.

Can’t stay long, or he’ll cause a ‘quake!

It’s roughly now, the Veggie Team,

In Morrison’s (our weekly scene)

Start turning out pure tons of ‘waste’

Which we will ‘harvest’ in due haste!

With grins of joy, we sort and pack

The extra crates into the back

Of all the cars – and then we drive

To Granton, giving some to Clive.

He cooks, we sort o’er thirty packs.

On chairs – to ease our aching backs.

(We all eat well, so be of cheer…

If you’d like to volunteer)…??

Then we deliver to our folk.

Get offered tea, or share a joke

With people of all types, and ages.

I chronicle it on these pages.

That’s how harvest comes around.

It all once came from out the ground!

So be content, this holiday.

Our God provides in many ways.

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