The Garden

In the garden's quiet refuge, as spring awakens,
A seasoned soul tends to the earth, memories rekindled.
A year’y ritu’l, raised beds of loam, hummus, and peat moss, a real chore.
With hands that know the dance of soil and seed,
A tapestry of life unfolds, fulfilling an older need.

The earth, a sacred vessel, cradles life in her embrace,
And in the gardener's tender touch, we find a boundless grace.
From early spring to harvest's call, a cycle we hold dear,
For in the garden's ancient song, eternity draws near.

Amongst the verdant tapestry, tomatoes burst with red,
Eggplants, sleek and purple, their mysteries widespread.
A watering, a weeding, and much dothing.
Hot peppers, fiery jewels, in shades of red and green,
Their spice a testament to life's vibrant, varied scene.

Cucumbers, climbers reaching high, their tendrils intertwine,
In every leaf and vine, a story intertwines.
The older hands, with deft precision, tend to each with care,
Nurturing these treasures, the bounty they will bear.

Through sun-drenched days and moonlit nights, the garden's tale unfolds,
As each plant reaches for the sky, their secrets softly told.
Narry a mistake to be made as nature’s forgiving.
The gardener, a steward true, with patience and with love,
Tends to this patchwork paradise, guided from above.

Yet amidst the beauty lies a battle fierce and wild,
The weeds, tenacious and unyielding, reclaiming every mile.
With hoe in hand and heart ablaze, the gardener stands tall,
Against the tide of green intruders, they give their all.

Squirrels, rabbits and their merry band, they gather 'round the feast,
To taste the spicy fruits of labor, a grand and wilder beast.
But the gardener, vigilant, defends with steady hand,
For in this dance of life and death, they hold the upper hand.

And in the midst of sun-kissed days, when evening breezes play,
The garden whispers secrets, in a language all its own way.
The earth, a teacher wise and old, imparts its ancient lore,
A rhythm and a rhyme of life, for those who tend its core.

Through summer's blazing fervor, and autumn's golden hue,
The garden thrives and yields its gifts, a testament to what's true.
The over-abundance in one, and scarcity in other, as in life.
For there's something ethereal, a spiritual reverie,
In coaxing life from fallow ground, in setting the spirit free.

The toil, a labor of love, in every furrowed line,
A legacy of seasons, etched in the heart's design.
The sweat, a testament, to days spent in the soil,
Harvesting the fruits of faith, a lifetime's earnest toil.

From early spring to autumn's call, the seasons ebb and flow,
A dance of life, a symphony, where roots and spirits grow.
In every leaf and bloom, a tale of nature's grandeur,
In every harvest gathered, there lies a sacred splendor.