A summer’s loving look once more
Hit the barren winter’s snore.
An idle era of jarring waste
Leave all greens to life’s distaste.
But an energetic redwood cannot be grown
Unless it feeds off a gardener’s scorn.
For love is but a rigid task,
Only loyalty can graze in its bask.
The gardener must dedicate,
Be ready to animate.
The gardener must enamor,
Be ready to hammer.
For plots of dirt can transform
To magnificent empires of Rome.
And just as steadily seep
Epitomes of abstract sleep.
Patience be upon the gardener
Of the tasks which harden her.
Marvel at a dream’s shore
Which she tirelessly bore.