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It is fall clean up in my garden, Lord.
I'm feeling guilty, sad, lonesome and blue.
The grasses and the weeds have over run
The lovely flowers, planted there for you.

Is this a mirror to my life dear Lord?
Have all my kinder deeds been overcome
By ugly thoughts and hurting acts and words?
Wild dandelion crowds out chrysanthemum?

Forgive me, Lord, if I have failed to tend
My garden in the manner that I should.
I'd claim the days I spent so foolishly
And use them more gainfully if I could.

Now that I'm in the autumn of my days,
I hope to take each day I have in store
And spend each precious second of that time
More usefully than I have done before.

Now as I pull each baneful weed and grass,
Removing each intruder one by one,
I hope to stand before you judgment day
Well kept, weed free, with all my gardening done.

By Joyce Johnson


For Constance a Rambling Poet's "I am sending you a gift of poetry, dear heart" contest

Inspired by her "Working in The Garden" poem on page 7 of her file

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