You sweet little babies, I see you there
lining the edge of my garden
with your blossoms no bigger
than my pinkie nail.
I see you, rollicking with laughter
just because there is sun
and the fun of beaming
for yet another day.
And yet you beam, I’ve noticed,
even when storms come.
I forgot your name years ago,
when I first tucked you
in the ground. Since then
I’ve seen you weather
frost and drought and snow.
I think it’s your joy in simply being
that keeps you keeping on.
Would you laugh even more
if I told you that now I fondly
call you “Teach?”