The choice she has not
Of where she jumped up
Through the top soil or
Through the grit.

Strong enough she must be
To endure the harsh,
Gritty soil, the mean
Sprays of salt, the constant
Wind from a rushing by.

Despite the struggle, I cannot say
She would enjoy the garden life
Better, but who am I to suppose?

Perhaps its not a struggle
But simply a life adapted to, as
She lives where she survives,
Not where she is encouraged
By hopeful but harmful
Hands.