Annie came with quite a mission:
Soil and pots—the expedition.
Something gritty, something deep,
Somewhere little roots can sleep.
Then a row of tiny roses,
Every one a leaf that poses.
Green and silver, pink and blue—
Now the shopping list just grew.
Succulent soil and pots, pots, pots,
“I have room”—well, maybe not.
One by the kettle, two by the door,
How did the windowsill ask for more?
Annie, tell us what you’ve got:
A tiny jungle in a tiny pot.
Turn the label, check the price,
Put it down, then look back twice.
That one’s round and this one’s tall,
We cannot take home them all.
Leave some room between the roots,
Leave the mud upon your boots.
Give the little leaves some sun,
Then resist another one.