The Man in the Garden

From Cathy Tallady of Lewiston, NY:

      “My summer cottage is on a lane in a colony. My brother’s cottage is near the entrance. One day, someone asked him where he could find my father. My brother answered, “Go down the lane until you see the man in the garden.”

That remark inspired this poem.

The man in the garden’s a scarecrow of sorts
    With faded and baggy old clothes
His hat is a relic of lopsided felt
    And he’s sunburned on forehead and nose.

The man in the garden’s a miracle man
    With a shovel, a rake, and a hoe
He takes a square footage of nothing but dirt
    And berries and vegetables grow.

The man in the garden’s a general stern
    And nothing escapes his keen eye
The plants are inspected in row upon row
    And they dare not look wormy or dry.

The man in the garden’s a partner with sun
    And partner with rain and with sod
The man in the garden’s both humble and proud
    For he works as a partner with God.

This article was published originally in 2016, in GreenPrints Issue #106.


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