By
Nela 1966
I do not own this garden, but to you alone I show
The flowers that I care for and am in awe as they grow.
Before you leave me, take my hand and walk across the lawn,
And see the flowers I have gown and cannot help but call my own.
I do not own this garden, but in days of rain and shine,
I tend each tender blossom as though it were really mine.
I breath the fragrance so sublime into my aching soul,
I toil all day this garden vast and work the fertile soil.
And in this way the plants give way and return to me each day
The essence of the simply joys of helping Nature’s way.
I do not own this garden though I say it belongs to me,
Though I care for each bright petal and enjoy that all I see.
I cannot keep them all for long, as summer moves along,
And time so rules in summer ways, and brightness wanes in shorter days
And is so eager for all to pass, to render humus for next year’s cast,
When I have gone away.
I cannot own this garden but to you alone I show
The flowers that I care for and am in awe as they grow,
Before you leave me, take my hand and walk across the lawn,
And see the flowers I have grown and cannot help but call my own,
But that which time takes for its own, I press a bloom within my book,
And so remember you and me whenever I take a look.
I never show the buds and flowers that from this time I stole,
They stay between the pages dark and never can grow old.
