This man doesn’t protect his vegetables
When the nights are long and dark.
Instead, he lets the potatoes succumb to cold,
The rhubarb freeze to frost and the kale leaves
Exposed, crisp for the caterpillars.
Whilst we cover our crops with tarpaulin,
Thick blankets for the broad beans,
Barricades for the broccoli,
He stands over his soil, arms folded,
With this thousand mile stare to the far rolling hills
Rich in thick brush and tall trees,
He believes, in his own romantic way,
“Whatever grows will grow.
If not today, then tomorrow.”


4 thoughts on “Growing

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s