The Gardener

She had a vision
Of living art
Beautiful images
To soften her heart

She desired an eden
A place of peace
A place where wonders
Would never cease.

She made a plan
And chose her plants
Shades and shapes
To compliment.

Every day
out there she toiled,
but her good intentions
were mostly foiled.

She strove for
The balance she desired.
Against which all
The plants conspired.

Daily they fought
a war for space
for mastery of
the botanical race.

Battles for light
And water ensued.
The winners grew stronger.
The losers withdrew.

As beds got warmer
Hussies coloured and danced
Looking for
A fruitful romance.
The birds and the bees
Joined in with the plot.
And soon whole spaces
Became nursery cots.
The weeds being the most insidious lot.

She weeded. She pruned.
She sowed by the moon.
But no matter what she did
They wouldn’t do as she bid.

Then one day
she downed her tools.
She left them
to live by their own rules.
Thinking them to be mere fools.

A few years later
The gardener returned.
And there was the garden
For which she’d yearned.

[Inspired by a visit to Holehird gardens in the Lake District on 21 May 2009 with Elaine Ward]