Step out from the rickety screen door,
Brisk Varvitsan air kisses the cheek.
Sobering blue skies swallow the scene,
sweetest scent of purity in the air.
Gazing out the eyes turn rustic,
Entranced by vibrant verdure.
Silence holds the air like a bell,
These lungs provide the symphony of being.
Pattering the meandering garden path,
Immersion soon follows these farmer thoughts.
Back’s stooped in the resoluteness of the harvest,
These hands the conduit for existence.
Sweat waters the loamy August earth,
Bartering its toil for verdant sustenance.
Never did a body ache in such pleasure,
Garden motherland beats one heart-
Each nourishing pulse ebbing into the other.
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