This is my land, baron and parceled.
It has been borrowed with hope.
This is my hoe.
This is my rake.
Where is my shovel?
Well, it broke.
It has been borrowed with hope.
This is my hoe.
This is my rake.
Where is my shovel?
Well, it broke.
Four years later…
4 years ago
2 comments:
*grin*, love this poem and your sense of humor. And yes, hope -- a garden is a thing made of hope.
Oh that poor garden soil. But it is much better now and next year it will great!
I just love your poems and insight.
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