The Garden

The lush vegetation seems but barren landscape in your absence and
I make my rounds often and hopefully
to see the garden, once again, a paradise crowned
and you—the floral tiara.

Perhaps you were never a flower, only the sunlight passing
Through and shedding light and warmth on this place,
and it is mean to hope that you’ll come again
and stay.

Or perhaps you’ll only find this garden infertile,
and see it as the desert I sometimes do,
and it is mean to hope you’ll bring life to this place,
when elsewhere you might
blossom fully.

Or perhaps your beauty – though splendid and graceful –
does not complement this landscape as I think,
and it is mean to ignore the beauty of
this garden.

The winter is no time for gardening, however,
and though it seems temperate, it is too harsh, but
not cruel. Soon enough the garden will find the life that is right
in Spring.

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