A little red trowel.
Earth dug and “fizzed” (sieved!).
Worms collected “to wiggle the mud”.
With furrowed brow, seeds carefully sown,
In rows and whirls, some blow in the wind.
Caring little hands, nurturing.
Pretty flowers, carrots, onions, peas and herbs.
Later he cries as raindrops fall, heavy and hard.
Sunshine bright washed away.
Sweet peas floundering with each watery punch.
She tells him the rain is good,
But he turns away with a tear in his eye.
His little garden flattened and beaten.
As morning birdsong disturbs their slumber he runs outside.
Flower faces smile,
Green shoots stand tall and quenched.
A nibbled leaf, one pea shoot gone.
Pesky birds and slimy slugs.
A green netted veil and a lion to guard.