This poem was written in response to the Reverie #13 prompt — an hourglass in form, with strict time requirements for the writing. I will probably go back at some point and work with this one some more. For now, here it is written with no revision in 45 minutes; from unorganized scribbles to poem.
Tomato plants take root in the greenhouse
waiting to move to the compost worm worked dirt
in the vegetable beds.
Poppies burst like fireworks,
orange splashes in the orchard and on the slopes.
The native garden bustles with a riot of birds and butterflies.
It flows between garden and habitat; pushing its boundaries,
full of life and flower and scent.
My first yard was professionally landscaped
with suburban shrubs and green grass.
I read about roses and planted a row so I could
fill my vases with fragrant pink buds opening
like happy faces flushed with life.
When we leave our ranch, I will have a small garden
with coastal fog and southern sunshine.
There will be fragrant roses blooming above
a jumble of lilies, alyssum and iris.
I will sip wine at sunset.
I will sip coffee at sunup.
I will know the names of the birds and butterflies.
I will dig in the dirt.