A Gardener’s Gloves

So very often
a garden lingers
longer than the gardener’s 
frayed gloves
and loving touch

still scenting
still swaying
growing toward the sun
tended to by butterflies and bees 
wind and rain

without melancholy
without longing
and without knowing
summer’s end
is soon enough.

ag ~ 2013

I wrote this for Robin 
in memory of her many gardens,
but it wasn’t quite finished
until I saw a photo
of her garden gloves.

With peace and love,
(and many more tears),


6 thoughts on “A Gardener’s Gloves

    1. Thank you Artie. There are so many “little things” that we miss beside the person herself. Robin always had small loving gardens. It’s coming up on that time of year (early Sept) that we normally spent time together and acted out our playful youthful selves! She also passed last year on Sept 13th. I keep thinking that I will see her once more until I remember… honestly though I’m ok and getting better. Thanks for reading and commenting. It helps.

  1. So touching…the garden continues, although the gardener may be gone – leaving only a memory of a heart once tended as well… May you find peace in the tears…

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