Some gardener writes that nature is no gardener.
If Nature is no gardener, what are we?
Where man has not defiled it, there’s more art in her
Little finger...think of tropic trees
Ornate with orchids, think of grassy locks
Alive with flower eyes, of fern-draped cliffs
Where clear drops fall, of ruminating rocks
Surrounding sun-raked sand...and count the gifts
She gives to all her creatures: living space,
And plants for food, and water’s lively touch,
And air and light for every upturned face,
And dirt for gardens. Let who does as much
Come throw that first hard stone. But please don’t leave:
She wants to hire some gardeners who believe.