Evening Poetry, May 8

People I Admire

by Naomi Shihab Nye

poke their shovels into the dirt.

Whatever they turn over interests them,

not just what they plant.

If there are roots or worms,

if the soil is darker, or mottled,

maybe the cap of an old bottle,

a snail, an ancient tunnel

left by a burrowing mole.

They know there is plenty of ground.

Every place has a warm old name.

The plumed grasses bend backwards

in the breeze, their job in life,

and they are proud of it.

You can find this poem in A Maze Me: Poems for Girls.

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