Garden Sweat


Today, sweat is upon my brow
cooled by cloudy breeze.
Russian olive trees, in full bloom.
wafts ancient scent in cords.
Cake-like dirt clings on my knees,
joints ache from digging.
While crows call, call, call…
and last of cricket frogs simply sing.
Their melody is of comfort
for they’ve found a mate;
as little wren sits on nest
built by man-made hands.
The garden is my cozy home;
where wild rose stretch and climb
wired peaks I cannot and amethyst
pansies wink then give a little grin.
The primrose fades, as does
lacy lilacs busy setting new buds.
What comes of the ‘marrow;
I know not… for its only now.
My garden planting, weeding,
tilling, as abundant drops do fall.
refreshing my brow, the earth,
and dance among gay blooms.
Today… garden sweat’s upon my brow.

Linking up at dVerse where we are looking at everyday things. The shower felt good!


  1. I don’t do most of the gardening around our house, but I enjoy the beautiful flowers planted by my husband. This was beautiful.

    I don’t usually suggest edits to other people’s poems because poetry is so personal, but in the second stanza I wanted the crows to “caw, caw, caw” instead of “call, call, call.” Just a thought. 🙂 Peace, Linda


  2. nice… my mom is a devoted gardener as well… and even with almost 88 she doesn’t manage to stay away from tending to it – even though her knees and back will ache for days when she was gardening…


  3. A garden is a good place to make a home. Near creation. Putting your hands into new life planting. I am all for that.


  4. A lot of dedicated gardeners in the dVerse gang, something pristine, organic, & connecting to Nature that the rest os us only experience through poetry like yours; very nice “everyday” moments. We need dreamers & gardeners more than we need lawyers, I say.


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