“The Garden,” a poem by Bob Rotruck
Friday, September 4th, 2009Bob Rotruck’s poetry can be read on the poetry pages of our website. Here is a poem he sent last week. We are awaiting word that his new book about his 20 year career in the Navy is ready for sale. He hopes that he will be able to report this good news in October. Having previewed the book, I’m so happy that his dream is coming true. ~Pat~
Bee on Rhododendron, photo by James Cummings
The Garden
I’ve often thought of my grandmother’s garden,
How the earth stayed soft and would never harden.
The pounds of veggies she harvested there
And that black garden dirt she did take care.
In early Spring my grandfather did spread,
Stuff from the other end of a horses head.
He mixed it in where the earth worms grow,
In full preparation for my grandmother to sow.
And soon as the soil was dry from the Winter,
A private contract she and God would enter.
Into the ground I will plant these seeds,
Grow from Your soil what will meet our needs.
And we will give thanks for the work You have done,
But we’ll take some of the credit for it isn’t all fun.
Days will go by and suddenly we’ll see,
Little green sprouts of the first garden pea.
A radish top will pop its pale green head,
She knew all was well she had nothing to dread.
Now see the first inch of a delicate carrot top,
God was doing His magic and would not stop.
Lima beans, pole beans, string beans too,
So many different plants reaching sky blue.
Darkness on the horizon and sounds of thunder,
Liquid gold on the garden will cause such wonder.
Overnight it will seem tomatoes turn red,
The entire garden is growing on the old homestead.
With harvest around the corner, we must get ready,
The garden will produce goodies straight and steady.
Before you know it, the first Fall frost,
All of the garden green is so quickly lost.
So many veggies sit asleep in Ball jars,
And the garden sits waiting under the stars.
A blanket of pure white covers it now,
It’s resting a bit in elegant style.
The garden is such a wonderful thing
I can hardly wait until next Spring.
ROTRUCK – ‘94
