The Garden
Weary and downcast, carrying the many heavy cares of the day I enter the garden.
Picking up the patient rake, with steady rhythm I gather the last of withered autumn into damp brown pools.
Green grass glistens and parts.
There is life’s new shoots poking through beneath the pear tree.
With easing breath and straightening limbs I bear the fallen leaves to the compost heap.
A gossamer spider’s web stretches, perfect and taut against the wooden frame.
The resident robin contemplates my movement.
Sitting in the familiar chair in which I have spent many idle hours I look out over the garden.
Peace descends slowly like the gathering night.
poem by Diana Rosser
Added by Poetry Lover
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