The potting shed

If you need me

I’ll be in the potting shed

Somewhere amongst those half folded packets

Of promised life

Those tumbled pots and dusty tools 

The wire and tangled rope

Of summers past

Raising life now second nature

For these hands

Called to push

Each seed into a dark and warm embrace

Each small hope

Into its earthly nest, 

To root, burrow

and grow, spring up,

flower and

set seed for other hands

To sow

In the potting shed


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