Healing Garden
You left the garden in a mess.
Strange thing for a gardener.
But they say those with trades
leave their own home last on the list.
I remember rolling up my sleeves.
On my knees rolling like a carpet
the grass covered paths.
Between six raised beds.
And the shed full of discarded things.
Paint boxes, boat engines,
strimmer cord, trailing ivy
and electrical items that
no longer carried a spark.
In the dark of my broken dreams
it seems the garden wanted to heal.
I toiled and sweated in a blissful state.
Pulling weeds as if in prayer.
Uncovering tree roots along giant rocks.
The resulting bounty now
reflect those tears I shed.
In their center they carry
the memory of my hurt.
Their beauty bringing a smile.
06/05/2019
Copyright © Jean Murray | Year Posted 2019
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