• 

She’d never had a garden to

Love and tend on summer days,

And so she lost control of it.

The weeds came up and strangled out

The plants another owner once did plant.

The thorns became a tangled mess

And winter long she mourned the loss

Of the garden’s gift to her.

But when the sun began to cast

Its golden fingers on the world

She saw that there was beauty to be found

In the unruly plot acquired.

Bumbles bees flitted through

And flowers grew

In marvellous periwinkle blue.

She ran her hands across those weeds

And pondered why anyone

Would ever want to rid the world

Of something quite so wonderful.