Gardener Best

Tiny girl, solid father, Southern garden seeks water. This elderly woman, she grabbed her cane, Bottomless sigh to breathe out the pain. Once a child, maybe five, Blew in with a gust, utter demise. Not even noon, perked toward the ocean, Minute, minute, then superfluous commotion. Inched in quick, my hand clutched his finger, Our chocolate skin matched, but compared, mine so meager. Gazing up at Pa, in his gardener best, Our eyes touched, they read, arrest, arrest. He mumbled “sweet pea”, Then dropped his head humbly. White men advanced, seized his limbs, Dragging him off, the outlook so dim. Primarily legal, his actions were few, My father, a provider, sincere and true. Dub them a name, they were terribly blind, The white men were prejudiced, confused, inclined. Aging woman’s face mirrored melancholy, Civility, Civility, I beg don’t forget thee! Excluding Parks, Till, Abernathy and King, Tell me dear friend, what would that bring? Bravery was not absence of fear, If not for these fighters, would we still be there? It doesn’t take much to recognize a soul, A glance in bright eyes should give heartstrings a pull.