Their enthusiastic voices rising joyously,
a hymn lacking all dogma or faith
except in the generosity of earth.
They exchanged triumphs and failures,
what they grew, what died
in spite of their tender cultivation.
They shared precious seeds,
tiny emblems of bread sustaining life.
I'm not a gardener. I watched,
as I envied their bond, the way a loner might wish
to get the benefits of camaraderie,
without the responsibility of friendship.
Yet, I know we're all gardeners in some way.
And, what we plant often blossoms.
(for Poets United)