• Just a tiny little garden.
    A garden just for me.
    To take away every weed,
    To plant another young tree’s seed,
    A joyous chore to see.
    I tend the leaves and trim the bush,
    I do not shove, I do not push.
    It comes so easily,
    You just relax,
    Until the linen
    Turns back to flax.

    Humble and still,
    It does not lie.
    He keeps you safe,
    From the sun’s wicked eye.
    His strong body,
    Can withhold,
    The aching burden,
    As he gets old.
    But as nature commands,
    The breeze lay still.
    A little garden.
    Becomes ill.
    His leaves now fall.
    And so do his eyes.
    But not his spirit.

    He does not cry,
    He knows it’s true.
    His time is over.
    He has to be through.
    His sons and daughters,
    Do not weep,
    For even death,
    Is bitter sweet.