POET

The dirt beneath my nails
By M. E. Wood

The sun shining warmly on my back.
Gentle breezes caressing my cheeks.
Kneeling and hunched over
digging out weeds,
an endless task for any gardener.
Just a few more.
I struggle to my feet,
Legs and back stiff from improper posture.
Settling into my Adirondack
I am awed by the fruits of my labour.
A masterpiece just for me
And home for butterflies and birds.

*published in Sol Magazine / April 2002

COMMENTS: Shape is generated by material as the poem forms its own echoes. Personal and realistic sharing of a gardener's 'plaint, with satisfaction at the end.