The Gardener ~ A Repost

She smiled and sang to him in a teasing lilt, “And if my lips were honeysuckle, would you be my honeybee?”

He was a thoughtful man, inclined to take his time
Studying carefully, planning meticulously
What seeds to sow, what would reward his care

He spent time working the soil, tending his plants
On hands and knees, letting his thoughts drift
Sometimes in the sunshine, sometimes in the rain

He surveyed his handiwork, admiring the colour
Rejoicing in his labours, tending to the weeds
Always he worked with love, always he was rewarded

He had a way with the thorny rose, and the exotic orchid
Blowsy peonies and showy lilies, all responded to his care
A perfect place to grow, a perfect place of repose

He hadn’t noticed the wild primrose, among the cultivated
A gentle presence, growing quietly in his leftover attention
Blooming only in the night, blooming with the hope he’d notice

He would sit in the evenings on his swing, thoughts adrift
Watching the dusk come down, dreaming of a hand in his
Catching a wisp of fragrance, catching a glimmer of her

He sometimes fell asleep there, laying his weary head down
Closer to wee primrose, nestled at the edge of his garden
Glowing in the night for him, glowing to tell him he was loved

~kei, 16 June 2012 ~ Original Post here

One must look in order to see ~ kei

One must look in order to see
~ kei

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