The Garden
I found a garden in the shaded woods,
My nose led me to the aromatic magic it produced.
Every plant struggled for a ray of sun.
Then my work had begun,
I did all by hand.
The rich loam held promise,
That my toil was not in vain.
I climbed high and low.
To allow sunshine, air and rain.
Whos garden I pondered,
Then thought with a sigh.
Mine is not to reason why.
I left some beautiful weeds,
For they deserved some of this good deed.
Regal the roses,
And lowly the weed.
Beauty is but in the eye of the beholder.
Life is short for you and I.
And so for natures downtrodden.
Mother nature never has a blind eye.
So the garden flourished from spring to fall.
With the help of the sun air and rain.
And with the sweat of my brow,
And my backs aged pain.
poem by John Shea
Added by Poetry Lover
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