Our Garden
(For Dad)
The garden he tended welcomes me,
ground strewn with weeds, ready for pulling.
Grass in corners struggles through mud
and another long winter's refuse.
The morning breeze wetly kisses my cheeks,
the way he used to when I was little.
a garden's life embraces me.
They speak to me of memories:
"His touch was so strong, so sure."
Nodding my head, I force down a surge
of sudden sadness.
Welcomed by vegetables and herbs,
I kneel in the soft dirt and tend
the plants he loved, loving them.
