Garden Musings
Why is the lily so stately and still?
Why doesn't she dance like the gay daffodil?
Why doesn't she blush like the rose or the pink,
Or, like mischievous pansy, indulge in a wink?
Do you think it's because she is holier than they,
Or did God just decide he would make her that way?
My Garden
My garden was silly and stubborn;
I worked, but the weeds worked, too;
I dug and scraped and scrambled—
They hustled themselves and grew;
Now Ted's garden's fine and cleanly,
He has lettuce and roses and peas—
Oh, most probably plants are like children—
They only behave when they please!
Tracks
I wonder where the rabbits go
Who leave their tracks across the snow;
For when I follow to their den
The tracks always start out again.