The garden's due for changing,
it's been ten years just the same.
The borders should be bigger
and the veg bit's looking lame.
The gravel and the flagstones
all look bare, and I know what's
The feature that is missing,
lots and lots of lovely pots.
So, off to find the Centre
with the best to pick and choose;
Orbs, troughs and urns and colours,
what a choice! We cannot lose.
And as we search we tap each
one, make certain that it rings.
But all sound dull, with hidden
cracks; there's not a pot that sings.
We're leaving, disappointed,
when a quiet inner voice
Said, "I was looking too for
pots, and had to make a choice.
I could have had the pots that
gave a perfect ringing tone,
But I can use the pots that
otherwise would be alone."
How grateful now I am to
God, who knows me through and through.
He chose my imperfections,
and He chose a crackpot too!
This poem was a finalist in the
October 2016 poetry contest