Bloom in the seasons

Spring doesn’t
All the credit

Tenderly planted
Nurtured in the soil

The Gardener helps
The others
Grow their plants

In the setting sun
And the morning light
She tends them

Watches them
In the afternoon

Happy faces
All around

They applaud
The Gardener
As she sets

To her own garden
Her barren one
Where the only pit
Is in her stomach

Once in awhile
A seed drifts along
The wind

She plants it
And cares for it
The best she can

It grows a little
But she is poison ivy

And she sits
By the lonely
Little plants

Softly to them
Watering them
With tears

Because in the end
They never bloom
And the Gardener sets

Off again, to other gardens
In need of her hands.


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