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.