her armor is a pair of baggy garden
jeans with clay stained knees
and frayed seams – her boots
bright red rubber
armed with hose and spray
nozzle she does battle with
the truculent sun trying to
reverse the siege of
parched earth
her knuckles are scratched,
pricked as she carefully
tweaks each flower –
off with their heads –
then stealthily browses along
stria searching under
bedraggled
leaves for invading insects
knowing if she slacks off
she will lose the war
the sky begins to turn
pewter a sign the present
skirmish has come to an
end
she hangs up her battle gear,
bows her head, bids farewell
to the retreating sun
rhymeswithbug 
I like the thought of battling the insects by hand instead of with poison…
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My modus operandi 🙂
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I especially love the final 3 lines.
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the sky begins to turn
pewter a sign the present
skirmish has come to an
end
I really loved this part and the whole concept of the poem, I can picture her very vividly!
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Thank you
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Very clever take on the words…seamlessly expressed in a beautiful image. Loved this one !
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Thanks so much.
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Really lovely image of gardening – as it should be offered – except, perhaps, not so much in the heat of the truculent sun 😉
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Thanks 🙂
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