A GIRL'S GARDEN
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neighbor of mine in the villageLikes to tell how one springWhen she was a girl on the farm, she didA childlike thing. One day she asked her fatherTo give her a garden plotTo plant and tend and reap herself,And he said, "Why not?" In casting about for a cornerHe thought of an idle bitOf walled-off ground where a shop had stood,And he said, "Just it." And he said, "That ought to make youAn ideal one-girl farm,And give you a chance to put some strengthOn your slim-jim arm." It was not enough of a garden,Her father said, to plough;So she had to work it all by hand,But she don't mind now. She wheeled the dung in the wheelbarrowAlong a stretch of road;But she always ran away and leftHer not-nice load. And hid from anyone passing.And then she begged the seed.She says she thinks she planted oneOf all things but weed. A hill each of potatoes,Radishes, lettuce, peas,Tomatoes, beets, beans, pumpkins, corn,And even fruit trees. And yes, she has long mistrustedThat a cider apple treeIn bearing there to-day is hers,Or at least may be. Her crop was a miscellanyWhen all was said and done,A little bit of everything,A great deal of none. _Now_ when she sees in the villageHow village things go,Just when it seems to come in right,She says, "_I_ know! It's as when I was a farmer----"Oh, never by way of advice!And she never sins by telling the taleTo the same person twice.
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