Mumblings of the Gardener

Their headdresses colour the man-made garden of Eden,  
and I wade through, on a wandering, plucking every third -
From hellebore to forget me not,  
tulip to fritillary,  
daffodil to hyacinth - In my basket breeds a yield of treasure
to brighten a home so sunken in Winter
we'd almost forgotten  
Spring would come again
and to rock those chills  
upon gentle lullaby
of Osmanthus and Viburnum,
the banshees of scent,  
sat on the old wooden swing.
Don't mind the birds who swoop overhead
and sing against the wind chime hanging from the Summerhouse,
don't mind the tadpoles, chasing their siblings deep in the pond,
don't mind the sycamore's seedlings and slug eggs -
Note they are treasures too,
in this working space,
make shift a vase from an old milk bottle
and enjoy only what Mother Nature gifts you -
Beyond all else, don't punish her with chemical mixtures made by man,  
for if you truly loved the soil you live on, the dirt flowers grow in, you would not.
Enjoy this ever changing Earth,
enjoy this soft, Spring day.