Author Information
A Path to Gardens Untended
Tucked away softly
Twixt and ‘tween the trees
Is a garden paradise
Flowers a’blossom
Each petal exhaling the breeze.
A gardener tends the meadow
Hands soft yet calloused by thorns
Never a shake in his finger yet always
An unsteady hand.
Never a soul entered the sanctuary
And the man never left.
All knew of the place
Yet none thought of its existence.
It was hidden in plain sight
And before it was a gate placed by
A great man.
Those who enter shall never
Be allowed to reclaim glory.
Those with tainted blood shall not pass.
For a while the man inside did well to avoid
The gate, but alas, water and fertilizer for his
Love had run short and time tells all whom live
That death approaches as readily as it
Leaves.
He approached the gate, and upon
Reaching to open the massive
Wrought iron clasps,
His heart ceased to be.
His hands became still
His eyes grew cold and dull.
He stumbled back, tainted
By his folly and blood.
The daffodils he had brought up from seed
Caught his fall, giving their lives that he may
Land with gentle grace.
His arm swiped at a rose bush, and his blood
Soaked the soil at its feet.
The garden surrounded him
And took him in.
He soon became one with them,
Bones remaining for the ivy he had
Watered and shaped to take home.
Though he was forbidden from the garden
He had cultivated it, become one with it.
Though his blood was said to be not worthy of it,
Though he himself fell short of the gardens needs
He gave himself that it may live longer.
The sun beat down upon the garden
And having none to care for it
Slowly it decayed and became one with the man.
Years later the blossoms were blooming
But they had lost their luster for life.
