The Porch Garden Project

The soil breaks, dampened by the early mists…
Stretching, breaking free, the sprout leaves.
Towards the sun, its first taste of light.
And at our first sight: the inner feeling of bliss.

Leafs unroll, spreading ever higher.
Upward green, downward roots, the plant fills.
And to our thrills, a bud appears.
Releaving our fears, the bloom fills our desire.

The bloom dies, though, fruit, under it hides,
And to our surprise, we see the first round.
The time is ripe for harvest, and that we do…
On that first taste, heard are our delightful cries.