My little garden is not large, nor lush, nor green,
A cramped and bare balcony with tiles and rails unclean,
It lacks the buzzing insects, the heady scent of loam,
Not one pink flamingo nor mischievous garden gnome,
I have not one single pot from which a flower grows,
So should I cry in shame that I should win no shows?
Scratched terracotta pots me meagre herbs,
The sea breeze floats in easily, settling my frayed nerves.
My basil bites, my pepper burns, and heady is my thyme,
My little garden, yes while simple, wins because it’s mine.