~   Touch O’ the Garden   ~

It was never my intention, nor my desire to care for you.
Thrust upon me, a piece of nature… not of my own.
Walls surrounding a garden of unwanted treasures,
Left to nurture, to love, by unloving hands.

Hours too long in hot sun, pulling endless weeds,
Water, prune, deadhead shriveled blossoms.
A duty meant not for least of the garden-hearted
Such as I, with a black thumb, cuts and bruises.

Drudging through motions of thoughtful doings,
Pretending a delicate caring to pastels.
Green ferns reaching out to embrace my touch,
Pretending slowly drifts into a gratifying reality.

COPYRIGHT©2005 BONNIE TORRENTE

Thursday, July 21, 2005