The Gardener
Hidden,
walled,
forgotten,
smothered by the weeds
which grow apace,
a garden slumbers in the cold winter wind.
Shrouded in mist,
his hat dripping,
he wanders among its dreaming pathways,
the life
secreted there.
A hand reaches out,
touching the fragile stem,
feeling the hibernating bud.
Gently he strips away the dead wood,
tenderly he tills the fertile soil,
softly he breathes upon the tiny new leaves,
half hidden,
longing to grow.
The fragile seedling trembles in the cold,
and he shelters it with his body.
Delicately it reaches for the sunshine
of his smile.
He cradles the tiny bud within his hands,
protecting,
nourishing,
loving,
willing it to grow.
The days lengthen,
the quiet rain falls.
and the sun grows warmer.
He sleeps in the warm fragrant bed
he has made for the seedling.
As he sleeps, he dreams
of a golden haired woman,
whose heart knows all the secrets of his own,
whose mind mirrors
his unspoken thoughts,
whose body dances with his
instinctive rhythm.
The sun shines down,
warming him,
wakening him,
and as he opens his eyes,
a subtle perfume fills the air;
as he tenderly holds the bud
in the palm of his hand,
the bud opens,
its soft petals unfurled,
revealing
and offering to him
its golden heart.
And from that golden heart
arises her soul,
a fog,
a mist.
coalescing into
the woman from his dream.
The song on this page is:"Chances Are(Johny Mathis)
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