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.