I have a grubby Angel,
Believe me, this is true.
She really knows her gardens,
And will pass tips on to you.
She gets herself so dirty
In God's own precious soil.
She shows me what I need to plant,
And keeps on at me to toil.
My garden used to have just shrubs,
And lacked in colours fair.
But now my garden's blooming,
And the dirt got in our hair.
We care not for the dirt on us,
Our mission is complete.
The grass itself has much improved,
And there's dew to cleanse our feet.
The perfume from our sweetest blooms
Each evening fills the air.
Oh, How I wish, my dearest friend,
That you could join us there.
Amy Hollesley © 2004