I stare at a few square inches;
I wish they would stare back.
Why should this patch ruin my life?

As the patch seeps poison
My veins have become tainted,
The garden that soiled by a foul supply.

I cannot uproot my plants.
I ache and sweat to plow this plot.

Many will pass by, less will ask questions.
"Could you grow something else?"
"Why don't you just grow what you first had?"

Some will simply fathom unsolicited advice.
"I loved your garden before this work."
"Give it up and buy a bonsai tree."

Some will never understand
And some may even defile this plot.
But I will continue to tend it anew.

"Inch by Inch, Row by Row.
We're going to make this garden grow."