Those parts of gardens that the world delights
Fresh vegetables, cut flowers, sunshine bright
You seldom hear of gardens in the rain
Much less the plants denuded of their fruit
Or see the gardener’s dirty fingernails
Or muddy boots
And poetry of gardens stresses thought
The poet’s metaphorical excursions
In truth the gardener’s mind at work holds neither
poetry nor contemplation, naught
But a long to do list she’s immersed in

OctPoWrMo 2020 #3; prompt: chaotic/free thought from and into art

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