The sun is hot upon my back.
The birds are singing a spring-time tune.
The garden gate is swinging in the breeze.
My hands have a tingle, and want to work.
I stroll in to my garden.
My skin feels hot in the sun, I am ready to plant.
The tiny green, so small, and fragile, is ready to begin a journey.
I make a hole, place the life into it, and tuck it in.
It requires love and a little shower.
It will be a fine garden.
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