Stand at the window, hands on hips
gaze on the disorderly mess
that is a neglected garden.
Mourn diminution of physical strength
loss of marrow from bones
joints stiff in stillness sulking
while flowers run wild,
colours clash as massive self-sown
intruders mar the symmetry.
Perhaps one day
a knight in shining armour
will clatter in and take control -
cut down rampant enemies,
reveal shape and beauty
clear the way for tiny things
to bloom. At last, I see the crocus.