Watering me garden's meditation for the soul,
Standing quietly sprinkling water, well it makes it makes a man feel whole
To wach the little seedlings, all burgeoning with life
Helps to rid the dramas of the day, and a welcome break from wife
I tend to sense the gratitude, as water trickles down
Giving tired roots a soaking 'neath a heated sun kissed ground
My reward is in their blooming, every single one.
Lifting heads in pride, to show off colours in the sun.
Though my can is old and rusted, it still holds it's water well
Though the paints all chipped and peeling off, look close, and you can tell
Family offered me a new one, for a gift a good while back
I scratched me head and thought a bit, and then I answered back
"What would be the point of that? Old can and me's just fine
We've grown together over years, best mates at watering time
Why the youngsters we have grown together, germinated all from seed
Seems a shame to break tradition, No. A new one I'll not need"
In the evenings you will find me down the backyard till it's late
Meditating in me garden with me trusty watering mate.
And when our watering days are over, well here's the funny thing
I'll put me mate back in the garden shed, at least until next Spring.