In the Garden
The wind has torn my hair from its ponytail
And the strands blow into my eyes.
There is dirt under my fingernails
And in the creases of my cold knuckles.
Bloody scratches adorn my arms,
A lost battle with the rose bushes.
My jeans are muddy at the knees
And my back is stiff and sore.
But the violets are turning friendly faces to the sun.
Apple blossom is piled on the branches like cotton candy.
Windblown tulips dance like small children in bright clothing.
The smell of moist earth promises more delights
And there is a smile on my face.