To my wayward gardeners (one excused for her good work with the dogs)…
I understand your spring fever, but while you are away, the weeds grow wild and tall.
The garden and I carry on without you – because a garden doesn’t make itself.
The roses have been fed their poo tea and the narcissus tied back.
The paths have been freshly laid. The weeds
have been are being pulled and the beds mulched.
And the new entry has been planted while the lilies and lilac begin to bloom.
But be warned – you leave me alone at your own peril –
lest the Dahlias find a new home…
and the poppies multiply…
and the new bed is planted too tight and too tall…
while that hideous shrub that you love is allowed to wither and die.
Don’t worry about me alone…I am in good company.
But be warned: it shall all be mine if you stay away too long.
Possession is, after all, nine-tenths of the law.
“Whoever makes a garden
Has never worked alone;
the rain has always found it,
The sun has always known;
The wind has blown across it
And helped to scatter seeds;
Whoever makes a garden
Has all the help he needs.”
The humble, but beautiful, poppy.