In a garden tangled, wild and free, Where carrots dream, and peppers meet, Karen turns forty-three with glee, Her hands in dirt, sun at her feet. A doomsday prepper's heart she bears, Amidst the herbs and earthy drills, She whispers of conspiracies, In echoes 'cross the rolling hills. Tinfoil hat atop her head, Deflects the world's electric hum, She chuckles at the tales they've spread, As bees dance in the evening sun. Off the grid and fiercely bright, She tends her plot, her haven's land, With every seed she sets to flight, A birthday gift, the earth in hand.