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After a short morning walk
and a bit of exercise
when I enter the little garden
to water the plants,
there is a moment of peace,
though neither the plants nor I
exchange a word, in silence we speak;
even an accomplished Wordsworth
once stood silent and just enjoyed the dance
of a host of daffodils on the side of a lake.
My little plants often smile
with a rose or a jasmine,
and the creepers lean on my shoulder
perhaps to say good morning or a simple thank you;
I can deny the presence of god
but can I ever deny
the presence of the unseen hand
that made these tender plants?
I love to touch the wet leaves
and wait every morning for a silent chat!
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