The Gardener

May 22, 2010
By Anna Beraud BRONZE, Atascadero, California
Anna Beraud BRONZE, Atascadero, California
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

The Gardener
An aged man stands
His squints as he gazes out into a field of green
Hours of backbreaking work
Body bent and eyes down
Thousands of holes
Shoveled by his callused hands
It’s his garden,
The earth ground into his hands
And the sun kisses on his cheeks
He watches the seasons pass
Fresh crispy greens in the spring
Juicy watermelon in the summer
A solid pumpkin in the fall
He feeds his family, from the days in the garden
Tending, caring for the plant that will help his family grow
He cracks his chapped lips exposing coffee stained teeth
He grins at the field before him
To a stranger, it’s just a field of green
For him it’s a field full of life, and of more life to come.

The author's comments:
I wote this on a road trip when I saw all of the workers in the feilds. It made me think about the people's lives. Also this poem is about my grand father who is an amazing gardener.

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