The Gardener

Every morning, as soon as I wake,
I head to my garden with my trusty rake.
I clear the debris and water the soil,
My life as a gardener is a life of toil.

As I water my flowers, I’m planting more seeds,
Then using my hoe to get rid of weeds.
Killing the weeds can be really slow,
But it helps my flowers to grow.

There’s a variety of flowers that I tend every day,
That could be arranged into a bouquet.
Carnations, Roses, Tulips and more,
All of my flowers I simply adore.

Some flowers are old and some of them new.
They glisten in the sun with the morning dew.
All of them need water and plenty of light.
My flowers need love for them to grow right.

Too little water, or too little sun,
Could destroy all of the work that I’ve done.
Same with too much; water or shine,
The right amount of both for these flowers of mine.

Sometimes my flowers wilt on their own,
No matter how much love I have shown.
Sometimes some of my flowers die,
And I sit in my garden and silently cry.

Then my attention turns to the flowers that remain.
From tending my garden I never abstain.
You may not know it, or maybe you do,
But in someone else’s garden, I am a flower, too.