This world is a garden fearfully made
an unruly orchard once well formed
though now decayed I am a gardener
who mourns well-meaning overwhelmed

misguided having let children run amuck
through border beds They’ve torn
iris leaves for wispy swords trampled stems
& muddied blooms beneath their rubber soles

I dare not look to left or right Rodent holes
appear under fences Wild winds have broken
branches It’s more than we can handle on our own
I despair of loss It’s all needing repair

You’ve made me & this garden & will your work
decay? I’m a dried-out vegetable patch overrun
with weeds an olive orchard filled with tears
I look to you to conquer all my fears

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash