Gardens have always been part of my life.
Some small but perfectly formed
where every minute of labour
makes a difference.
Perfumed glory coloured my days.
Some huge, where a day of labour
and a fortnight away from home
produces a jungle.
Grass to feed two horses,
fruit and vegetables enough
to feed a growing family.
Some new, young plants and trees
an unfulfilled promise of beauty,
left too soon, anticipation blighted.
Age and infirmity dictate
a garden in pots around a patio,
with flowers in season purchased,
not grown by me from scratch.
A few herbs for the pot
scanty in unsatisfactory ceramic.
Nowadays, nearby fields, hedgerows,
trees and sky
provide my garden.
Written for Poetic Bloomings, in the Garden prompt