The Gardener

He counts roots and tendrils, delves deep into his tillage, some plantings have escaped and he wonders to where? He seeks for the once planted, finds them, reveals again the beauty even in the wilderness blooms. There are many flowers to tend to; without this inner garden he might only be an old clay pot. So he gardens, waters the ones that have turned into brier and thorns, after all he has kept them for a long time, and some wake him in the night demanding his attention even yet.