This afternoon made place for meetings,
And the garden called the spot.
« We are what we eat » students gathered by the sword of Stacey,
To meet with plants,
While old garden folks arrived then,
To drift another recently-father to them.
These latter old garden folks came to worship the garden as usually.
One dropped a banana skin to feed the soil with potassium.
Two carried on their friendship with the grass.
And I still came to root out more rocks.
Sun, work, sweat, promiscuity, environment, will,
And people understand each other without a sound.
And kindly so, building workers used their wheelbarrow with compassion,
Dressed with their usual outfit after I came with my usual one to get rocks out of their working field.
For us all.
That’s what a day is in the garden and in the heart of W. Guthrie.
« This land is your land, this land is my land,
From California, to the New York Island,
From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters,
This land was made for you and me. »
(This land is your land, Woody Guthrie)
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