I Will Plant a Garden
(to the tune of "Old MacDonald Had a Farm")

I will plant a garden green,
Then I'll watch it grow.
I'll dig some holes here in the dirt,
In a nice straight row.
With a dig-dig here,
And a dig-dig there,
Here a dig, there a dig,
Everywhere a dig-dig,
I will plant a garden green,
Then I'll watch it grow.

I will plant a garden green,
Then I'll watch it grow.
In the hole I'll drop a seed,
Then each seed I'll sow.
With a drop-drop here,
And a drop-drop there,
Here a drop, there a drop,
Everywhere a drop-drop,
I will plant a garden green,
Then I'll watch it grow.

I will plant a garden green,
Then I'll watch it grow.
I'll water each plant one by one,
They'll sprout up in a row.
With a squirt-squirt here,
And a squirt-squirt there,
Here a squirt, there a squirt,
Everywhere a squirt-squirt,
I will plant a garden green,
Then I'll watch it grow.

There is a Witch in these woods,
and I know her.

I know her by her eyes,
Taking in the falling of a leaf
As though it were an epic film,
Her gaze wandering from the trodden path
To where water meets Earth and sky.

I know her by her hands,
Lingering on the trunk of
Every tree she passes,
Caressing the rough bark as both
Lover and friend.

I know her by her wonder,
At the tiny silver schools of fish
At the gliding turtles
At the track of a cardinal
Through the canopy of trees.

I know her by her delight
Transfixed by the weaving of branches
By the dance of a dragonfly
By the patterns of light
On the shadow-dappled Earth.

I know her by her silence
Listening intently to the birds
As if she understands their conversation
And hearing, eyes closed, the language
Of stone and oak and cloud.

I know her by her footsteps
Light and sure on the riverbank,
Quiet and unhurried on the path,
With a handful of stream-smoothed stones
Rattling in her pockets.

I know her by her kinship,
By the butterflies who linger,
By the squirrels who take notice
And then go on about their business,
Unafraid.

I know her by her presence,
Seeds and nuts left in offering,
The rise and fall of murmured prayer
The barest touch of magic
Wherever she has walked.

I know the Witch in these woods,
For I have met her reflection
And perhaps if you are lucky
And walk softly on the Earth,
You may meet her too.

"I was here first," said the snowdrop: "look!"
"Not before me!" sang the silver brook.
"Why," cried the grass, "I've been here a week!"
"So have I, dear," sighed a violet meek.

"Well," piped a bluebird, "don't leave me out!
I saw the snow that lay round about."
"Yes," chirped a snowbird, "that may be true;
But I've seen it all the bleak winter through."

"I came betimes," sang the southwind, "I!"
"After me, love!" spake the deep blue sky.
"Who is it cares?" chimed the crickets gay:
"Now you are here, let us hope you'll stay."

Whispered the sun, "Lo! the winter's past:
What does it matter who's first or last?
Sky, brooks, and flowers, and birdies that sing,
All help to make up the beautiful spring."

May you all have a Beautiful Springtime, 

WOW, Nyanah