The Croft

Wariness of a clear and present situation
Weariness of monotony and unchangeables;

May I have a little croft for gardening and things alike?
I'd grow a bunch of cucumbers to keep me cool within,
A horde of succulent watermelons to keep me hydrated,
And a couple of fluorescent orange carrots to improve me eyesight.
I'd let the earthworms slither in and out the moistened mud
Let the caterpillars carve out beautiful shapes from leaves,
I'd love to scatter earthen pots, meaninglessly and thereon
Allow them to grow into unfastidious microcosms
That reveal little but contain a whole world within them.

I'd quench its thirst, the little croft, and look it from my porch,
My porch, of wood, a simple one, is a world within itself,
With its rocking chair, a table, and ash-tray being the protagonists,
And my walking stick following close behind.

I'd trim and clean my little croft as often as could be,
The sowing seeds and picking weeds'd go on unrelentlessly.

Wariness of a clear and present situation
Weariness of monotony and unchangeables;
Would it be so hard to think how life would end?
How it would be to be old? With wrinkles and flappy skin?
It all seems so serene, so serene.