A seed that's been planted
In a garden of weeds and harsh weather.
I have to nurture the seed and pick the weeds.
New ones will grow,
But I can watch carefully for your weeds,
And remove them gently.
As to keep the ground calm,
For your roots to take place.

Your seed may be scared to blossom,
To bud, to sprout.
And so I hold out my hand,
And offer my presence.
I won't leave this garden.

I may have other flowers to attend to,
But yours is my favourite of all
And I intend to stick through it.
A promise is a promise.
A gardener has her job.

I sometimes ponder
If I'm a good enough gardener.
If I will be enough for these plants,
This seed, this garden.
Do they need me as much as I hope?
Do the flowers admire me the way I do them?
Can a tree sway in hopes I will dance too?
Perhaps not.
I just hope I'll be good enough for you.
Even if I don't resemble the flowers or trees,
I will work hard until this garden is blooming.

A seed in a garden of weeds.
A glimmer of hope in a dark lit room
Maybe I'm foolish to hope as much as I do.
But I don't care so long as your flower gets to bloom.