"Don't plant a garden in the city," they say --
As if they have a right to tell me where
To sow a seed just because they've been there
And failed to soften the hard city clay.
But I admit that in this busy day
And age, Metropolis has few plots to spare.
Still, I'll plow it under, if I may dare,
And be ****** if I ever walk away.

So let me overturn the concrete lair
Of sterile waste so that children can play
In a garden cultivated with so much care
That Ceres herself would be happy to stay.
And in my season, I'll lovingly prepare
A rich little plot for my body to lay.