The Fruits of Our Season
Contributed by Nan Potts
As I gaze upon my garden,
bare,
A see impressions of items,
there.
The plants of seeds in Spring,
I sewed,
An ample harvest to us,
bestowed.
Yet, half the garden did,
produce,
The other foundered from,
misuse.
In mind I queried this stage,
of state,
Within same soil they did,
propagate.
Those who flourished were of common,
ground,
The rest were laid into ground,
unsound.
When looking at my garden,
hence,
It’s growth seems to thrive in,
common sense.
