“Come walk in my garden,” she called to a friend.

“I’ve planted new rose just round that bend.

I’ve weeded and watered, I’ve done quite a lot.

I’ve made a new garden on this very spot.”

“She calls it her garden,” a little voice said.

“What gives her the right? Is she out of her head?”

Another voice answered,  “She just doesn’t know,

How little she does,  towards making it grow.”

The bird, toad and butterfly,  lizard and bee,

They knew of this garden, they helped it to be.

Living and working, for ages untold.

Helping the wonders of earth to unfold.

“This is our garden,”  she heard their faint call.

“This is our home, it belongs to us all.”

We’re only the caretakers, doing what we,

Must do for our children, some yet to be.

The sun, earth and rain, have all done their  part,

Creating this garden, from its very start.

Yes, she helps it along, she gives it a hand,

But the garden was already here on the land.

“Come into our garden,” she said to a friend.

“I’m helping it grow, yes… I’m lending a hand.

By working with nature, there’s much we can do.

This garden is growing, and now I’ve grown, too.

                                                Diane Chamberlain