In early spring we cannot wait
to spruce the garden, clear debris.
We till the soil and fertilize,
then sow some seeds, rake carefully.

We love to put in annuals--
some red begonias where there's shade,
moss roses, marigolds in sun.
You use your hands, I wield the spade.

I pause amidst the fledgling plants.
Confused you ask, "Something amiss?"
I grin, embrace you in my arms.
What's sweeter than a springtime kiss?