The Garden

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I am a deracinated legume

Raw, exposed, resigned, relaxed

Displaced by hands of which I'm dispossessed

I look down upon neat cultivated rows

The baked earth weak from summer's use

And littered stubble remnants of the harvest

It is a wasteland

Such forces in my garden world

Impair, impress and fascinate

Languid as if the dream will end

I catch a glimpse beyond the fence

Where the meadow is olive-green, thick and lush

Variety and fullness abound, abuzz with life

Punctuated with the scent of jasmine blossoms

It is in that world my secret meadow thrives

And where my roots are deep and my branches firm

The Garden  - The Courage of Intimacy by Keith Ainsworth                                                                                                                                                                    36