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Click hereI have a garden you know
and I dig and I dig and I dig
and when I finally break thru to the surface
everything is dark and dry
The seeds were planted
long ago when I was a child
but aren’t you supposed to plant in fertile ground?
then why was this soil killed?
I love flowers and trees
and I know how to prune but how
do you prune and shape a few sparse branches?
Shouldn’t I save the blossoms?
I do. In a book.
Between pages, wrapped in waxy paper.
Its a very small book.
But its mine.
My garden.
A wasteland
The garden metaphor of life
in which the poet feels to be
fallow ground
and the grind
of day to day
drips more pain
than beauty
which little of
or both
are blossom pressed
between the leaves
garden grown
the poet's own.
A good read
wonderful, vivid expressions, you are a nurturer, a golden soul..come heal me :)
Wonderful words, familiar sentiments. Thanks for the great read.
...the third stanza especially......"shouldn't I save the blossoms?" is such a perfect question there.