Soil in my nail bed

from digging in the flower bed.

Without a hat atop my head,

I dripped with beads of sweat.

“Better drink some water," said

Grandma Fiske from her old shed.

Dahlias are what she bred,

with methods firm and set.

We went inside and there she fed

me with insistence that she pled.

Time that morning swiftly sped,

but it's those times I won't forget.