The Garden

The gardener does all in a walk
His pace is slow, breathe in and exhale
The scents of spring leaves no room to talk
Roaming from roses to four 'o'clocks
And giving them rain from a pail.

And through the passing, from day to day
The life he lives will always feel drawn
Like rain to sprout, aware of delay
For too much leisure leads to decay
Winter's seeds neither empty nor gone

But in this work, perspectives are found
The slow stride counters the lifespans seen
Hope for the seed, for blooms to abound
And shared grief when they fall to the ground
Now they've no need for the steel canteen

They know time goes quick in the long run
Walking helpless, such lack of control
For you see all this in a season
And I can see no other reason
Amid this stir, they idly stroll.