You loaned me once a garden, and whispered quietly,
See what you can create in it with tools and reverie.
You’ll draw from each day’s tending any lessons meant for you.
Understand the garden beds are loaned; the seasons are but few;
They’ll come a time when blossoms fade; remember well their place!
I heard Your Admonition as each season showed its face.
I came to know, try after try, each bloom would have one chance
To catch my eye; my stewardship became more joyful with each glance!
Nine years I worked those garden beds; my turn to pass the rake had come.
I one last time watched roses climb; old fashion scents spiced cinnamon.
The lemons, ripened on the tree, awaited the next someone’s hand.
Impatiens filled small garden spots, sweet rose-like, ruby, budded strands.
I walked outside the back, recalling once more words You’d said;
I touched the lilies; marguerites; the fuchsias bowed their heads.
Beneath the overhanging branch, I looked up toward the sky.
Releasing hold and heart, I whispered thanks, and accepted why.