Poem: The Tending


The Tending

This is what I know.
Gardens grow.
Gardens die.
Some bloom year after year.
Some perish, never to blossom again.

And the only difference
is the tending.

About this poem

When my marriage fell apart a little more than a decade ago, I returned to poetry. IT became, as it still is today, part of my way of working things out in my head. Many of my poems used garden imagery. It seemed to be my metaphor for relationships.

It still is. And I still wonder sometimes why a kid who has crumpled in one situation and flourished in another. Why does one person get crushed in one relationship, and blossoms in another.

The tending.


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