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Tending the Withered Woes
Once well-intended
morning sun alarmed my rise
voices stirred the field
tasks like steady watering —
enlisted day's living work
Then the old gates closed
the pathway seldom walked choked —
soil forgot the spade
plants shrank back for want of care
petals curled back deep within
Left unattended
the garden grows weeds of woe
memory withers —
branches sag beneath own weight
the reek of neglect lingers
Yet the ground still sighs
waiting for hand to return —
the soil lies furrowed
awaiting seeds cast resown
to sprout green in silent spring
Time to grasp the rake
kneel again between the rows
weed the listless out —
let gardening be mind's cure
for hiatus after frost
Copyright ©
John Anderson
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