The list of jobs is ever growing
from one thing to another I've been tossed
If there were a master gardener here
Tasks would be wisely bossed.
Perhaps the last freeze is past,
though not the final frost
Any plant outside now
might become a harvest lost.
Seedlings beneath the lights
Plants too big for seedling tray,
Some can live there for a while
Others suffer from delay.
I turn my head and plainly see
Too many jobs to do
Even when planted outside
The work is never through.
There is a need to choose a path
A time to make decision
Decide the fate of each dear plant
A choice, I pray, by highest vision.
As I make my "Sophie's Choice"*
between this life and that
I hear the term in Hot Lip's* voice
as if I wear a doctor's hat.
A term I learned decades ago
from Hawkeye* and the crew
Triage - to choose who lives or dies
by how well the cure might do.
The plant that cries the loudest
Finest flavor on my tongue,
The plant most rare and precious
I choose to help that one.
Evening comes, the sky is darkening
I'm still outside with my hoe
working the soil to welcome
All the beautiful plants I know.
I'll take you each in turn
Before it is too late
Triage is only a place in line
To grow in love for all, is fate.
by Rachel Claire
* respectful credit to whomever owns the intellectual property mentioned
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May all your decisions bring Peace and Joy for all!