The Garden

by yogi73   Dec 28, 2018

Each spring I return to the soil.
Upon my knees
Hands into the earth.
The chill of winter is cast off but progress is little as i pull and pluck
Deadened, brown stalks from fertile beds.
I toil in my steadfast chore
My labor of love.
I cherish what will blossom from
The early season rains and warmth of summer. The bounty of our diligence. It must be nourished every day, fending off thistles and the ill gotten bindweed.
A brisk spring wind causes me to pause and to think of beauty past.
Forgive an old man his memories, some loves never die.


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Latest Comments

  • 1 year ago

    by Ben Pickard

    Wonderful work. The prefect balm for the impending winter.

    All the very best,

  • 2 years ago

    by Milly Hayward

    The joy and tranquility that gardening brings to so many people is captured here in the musings of an old man. What better thing can there be than to bring life to nature? Happy New year... Milly x

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