Around mid-April the Widow Wyile plunks
down outside on a small old rocking chair
perfectly child-sized and set in the sun
to compose a planting ditty
for pea seeds grown wonderfully
plump in a small bowl of water
their wrinkles vanish
at the promise of sprouting
something she wonders
if she could do
but for her the sprouting
of soft silly songs
or sonorous tonings suffices
her face will crinkle in satisfied
smiles once again when she crunches
peas popped out of plump pods
delectable offerings she plans
to help along so she rocks a bit more
ponders how best to bless their growth
and plant her gratitude alongside them

once the ditty starts up in her
she heads to the garden
lays the seeds lovingly into earth
pats them in and waters them singing:

grow little peas
green as you please
you’re lovely and round
whole with promise
precious little peas
grow well please
sprout and unfurl
then about this trellis curl
grow little peas
green as you please
bless you little peas
grow from this ground
green and twirling proud