She fills dirt into a pot
Shakes it up then pats it down
All the way till it’s near the top.
She places a seed firmly in,
Moistens the fresh soil,
Then places the pot on a ledge
By the French window,
And then the job is done.

The pot sits by the window
It has, for more than a month,
Soaking up the morning rays,
From the majestically rising sun,
Getting drenched by the drizzle
Gently sprayed from the watering can,
All around it, there’s a bounty,
Of nature’s verdant beauty,
Spilling over from the garden,
To multiple pots bearing plants on the floor –
And yet for all that, it stands bare, an eye sore.