When I take a ride and peer out of the window,
Even with the numerous daily worries running in my head,
It’s almost always hard to miss,
The bright hues from a garden or a flowerbed.
The green vines raising high and climbing between the trellis,
The buds of different colours, bouncing in the sun.
Even if there are no blossoms, the plants with life alone,
Are still better than looking at – just hard cold walls of stone.
You, who work on keeping your plants more than just alive,
Making sure they get the right amount of love to thrive.
You lovely green thumbed people, thanks to all you do,
Some other parched patches, are sown with joyful colours too.
