IN A GARDEN . . . AS IN LIFE

We don our gardening boots and floppy hat

and brave the sweaty burning sun.

With aching knees and blackened hands

we love the dirt

that nourishes all our promises.

From the coldest winds

and driest heat

we protect our unborn bulbs

with acceptance

and a smile.

And long before she bursts open

and into glorious song

already we are in love

with the dream.

In a garden . . . as in life

our toiling makes no guarantee

of fairness or reward

but we do it anyway . . . on faith.

And sometimes . . . we are allowed

to glimpse

the gloriousness of a precious petal

only to have it

quickly fall away.

That is when

we must close our eyes

to see the flower.

Dedicated to all Mothers suffering the loss of a child.