Above-stairs, a sullen winter day;
downstairs, we garden.
A bag of soil, dry and inert, waits
for heat’s abracadabra.
Packeted diamonds in the rough,
seeds personify prayers. 40 more words
I have a long history of being a plant abuser. Even self-watering plant containers have only lasted so long with my busy schedule. I think the last indication that I needed to give up on the whole idea of ever successfully adopting a plant, was when my co-workers walked into my office, snatched up the large, dying arrowhead plant from its stand, and confiscated it. 402 more words