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Holding a packet of seeds
I read ‘broad beans’
and tearing off the top I pour them into my hand
where they lie
brown and leathery like miniature purses
filled only with hope
for who would believe inside each withered case
is the makings
of a green and leafy stalk
and flowers
which
when visited by a bee
will set and behind each falling flower
a tiny pod
and growing all the while
till four or five plump beans
are ready for my plate.
So
I lay them one by one
reverently into the soft damp soil
if there is a prayer
to start them on their journey
I have already said it with my wonder.
The inquisitive hen. 
really like the closing lines!
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Yes am pleased with them too Jim. My poetry thing is just an experiment, I really don’t know what I am doing except trying to keep words simple and form a picture. With that unknowing comes a great sense of freedom, I don’t fear mistakes and if even one line is satisfactory it pleases me greatly.
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I remember learning about the broad bean in school and how it split it’s side from laughing.
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hmmm could it have been you who split your side from laughing and not the bean?
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