I like to sit in the little garden,
Somewhat, what I always wanted.
Hearing the sounds that keep me company,
Having to think, there is even more here.

Shade not to my eyes, but the sun,
My eyes closed, but not to the world.
And if it's just right, how I pictured it,
Just to think, about how I arranged this.

Judging by how well it had grown,
Even what it had in me and stopped.
That something, that nobody can replace,
Making it a choice to make it the best I can.

©2007, Ron Globe