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My mother had a way with plants,
    Her thumb was really green.
The plants responded to her love,
    With vigor seldom seen.
loving hands would pinch and prune,
    And pot with loving care.
she grew them in the parlor because
    The morning light was there.

She sometimes sent me to the woods
    To get her some leaf mold.
I'd gather in no time at all,
    Whatever my bag would hold.
She mixed it in with soil and sand,
    Plus fertilizer too.
I tell you folks, those plants sure thrived,
    'twas marvelous how they grew.

One day she turned to me and said,
    "My son, the time is due,
To learn to work with living things,
    So I'll start teaching you.
I'm giving you six growing plants,
    They are your very own.
You'll cater to their every need,
   The job is yours alone.

How proud I was to own those plants,
   The feeling sure was grand.
I learned to tend their every need,
   Through mother's guiding hand.
I kept them on a window sill,
   Where there was light and air.
And I soon learned that they'd respond
   To tender loving care.

The sands of time are running low,
   And I am getting old.
The plants I own and care for now,
   Will run a thousand-fold.
But though my orchids bring me joy,
   And each bloom brings a thrill,
I often think of those six plants,
   Upon that window sill.


From Orchids In My Greenhouse -- Crabgrass In My Lawn

By Clarence S. Lindsten




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