The Gardener

A summer’s loving look once more

Hit the barren winter’s snore.

An idle era of jarring waste

Leave all greens to life’s distaste.

But an energetic redwood cannot be grown

Unless it feeds off a gardener’s scorn.

For love is but a rigid task,

Only loyalty can graze in its bask.

The gardener must dedicate,

Be ready to animate.

The gardener must enamor,

Be ready to hammer.

For plots of dirt can transform

To magnificent empires of Rome.

And just as steadily seep

Epitomes of abstract sleep.

Patience be upon the gardener

Of the tasks which harden her.

Marvel at a dream’s shore

Which she tirelessly bore.