National Poetry Month, V. 7.0, Day 17

Today I built a garden - something I have not done in a very long time.  Removing sod is perhaps one of the more unenviable parts of gardening - clearing the grasses away is slow and painstaking - especially when you are doing it with only two shovels and elbow grease.  But, I did it - and now, there is a bare patch in my backyard of approximately 200 square feet, which will yield vegetables galore - I hope!!  As I was doing it - and brewing tea in the sun at the same time - I began to think about gardening as a whole, and, from that, I went straight to physical labor as its own separate thing.  It made me think about a book my father gave me a long time ago, wherein the intrinsic value of "work" and why we need to do it is ultimately necessary to the concept of humanity.  At least, that's the cliff notes version of the book.  It's a lot more in-depth than that, of course.  BUT, as I was thinking to myself how I now understand the reason for having those motorized/electric sod-cutters, I also began to understand the reason why maybe it's more important that, even though those machines DO exist, they should not be used every time.  The value of my labor in performing the task makes the harvest that much sweeter.  And so, as all this stuff was running rampantly through my sun-addled brain, I began to write this poem.  I hope you enjoy!  I know I did.

Thanks for reading,

Me

garden of choice

my body aches,
hands and feet are pierced with
the pain that comes from labor,
muscles sore from lifting 
the leaden weight over and again.
how easy to say 'no, i shall not do it'
and let this day pass away like any other.
but the aches and pains have meaning,
a small bit of suffering endured
for the better,
one i will make again and again,
because the work is more important
than the pain and the discomfort -
it is the act of working that 
brings honor to the labor,
because I do not have to do it - 
i choose to.