THE GARDENER

The garden was ablaze with a riot of colour,

But no one knew where all the colours came from.

Who watered the plants? Who tended the flowers?

Who painted this lovely picture?

Like a piece of music that has a haunting beauty,

It made me hum softly to myself;

When the breeze rustled through the leaves,

It seemed someone was arranging books along a shelf.

The less organized neighbours must have been jealous!

No one knew how to grow flowers year-round.

But someone came time and again

And then left without making a sound.

I sometimes feel I should reveal

I am the one they are looking for.

They usually take love for granted,

But a thing of beauty they can't ignore.

So I watered the plants with their first thought of the day

And I scraped away the dead leaves with their last thought of the night.

I pruned the branches with all the thoughts they had in between;

Deadheading their old thoughts is part of my daily routine.

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