The road to my allotment,Is uphill all the way,But each step going forwardI plan my work for the day.
Digging vacant soil plots,Weeding down the rows,Turning over compost,All keeps me on my toes.
But when I take a breather,It’s nature’s sounds I hear,The distant call of curlewsAnd curlews that live near.
Each visit is a bonus,To a man of many years,A chance to relish living,And banish worldly fears.
The allotment is a food storeFor year-round healthy fayre,But likewise, it’s my outdoor gym,A workout in fresh air.
My knees enjoy the workout,My heart beats strong and true,They also tell me in their way,When the stint is through.
So home I plod, but downhill,Mind full of labours done,Till up my drive my journeyends,Tired and yet tranquil.…