Birds chirp sweetly in the trees,

Branches sway atop the breeze.

Blackbirds dip and dart and run,

and shine and glint in winter sun.

A streak of red, a twitching nose,

a bushy squirrel as statues pose.

Shoots appear from frozen ground,

roots creep down without a sound.

The spade is crunching in the soil,

I dig and fork it, work and toil.

Then drop the bulbs in one by one,

and fill with earth where I begun.

In gardens there exists no stress,

It is here that I find happiness.