Thrift

Since money doesn't grow on trees, you've saved

For us these roses from the roadside ditch,

A stash of color that we've always craved.

They spend their petals, make our summer rich.

Buttercup and canna, black-eyed Susan,

Wildflower, bulb and vine-all that you grow

You've found along some hedge, in woods or

meadow,

Free but for the effort. Their wild roots loosen

And soon you're back here working, raking in

The dirt below our bedroom window. So

It's been with apples, berries, persimmon-

All wild and reaped from what we didn't sow

Like what you found to keep erosion down,

A lucky gathering of what's called thrift,

That holds the soil under petals round

As coins you'd save to buy the perfect gift.