deepundergroundpoetry.com
Horticulture
I prefer my trees
My flowers, shrubs
And weeds
They fill my lungs with petal breath
Never refuse breakfast
No.. plants are easy
People have a way with disappointment and complaining, though I’ve tried
Friends
Such uncooperative beings
That’s why, I choose gardening
Sweet little sprouts, buds
Thorns
All in rows for me to tend..
Even the sun acknowledges my efforts
It labors with me
Many seasons I have gone
Without someone to water me
Hold my hand
Trim my leaves
Now, look at me!
Unkept, scraggly
I feel it won’t be long
Before my body begins
Withering
Though part of it has already begun
Decomposing
That’s why I prefer my trees
My flowers, shrubs
And weeds
I will admit, some days
I fail at sprinkling their roots
Not sure if it’s fatigue, or downright
Neglect
But I get up, once ready
Replenishing soil
With their watering can
Following, they reward me
In floral dance
I sow my company in pots outside
At a distance
Just far enough to see
But not quite close enough to prick
Too many things I’ve lost
As if these hands of mine are cursed
Grow them far, or I just might kill
Those too.
My flowers, shrubs
And weeds
They fill my lungs with petal breath
Never refuse breakfast
No.. plants are easy
People have a way with disappointment and complaining, though I’ve tried
Friends
Such uncooperative beings
That’s why, I choose gardening
Sweet little sprouts, buds
Thorns
All in rows for me to tend..
Even the sun acknowledges my efforts
It labors with me
Many seasons I have gone
Without someone to water me
Hold my hand
Trim my leaves
Now, look at me!
Unkept, scraggly
I feel it won’t be long
Before my body begins
Withering
Though part of it has already begun
Decomposing
That’s why I prefer my trees
My flowers, shrubs
And weeds
I will admit, some days
I fail at sprinkling their roots
Not sure if it’s fatigue, or downright
Neglect
But I get up, once ready
Replenishing soil
With their watering can
Following, they reward me
In floral dance
I sow my company in pots outside
At a distance
Just far enough to see
But not quite close enough to prick
Too many things I’ve lost
As if these hands of mine are cursed
Grow them far, or I just might kill
Those too.
Published 9th Apr 2021
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Anonymous
23rd Apr 2021 1:15am
I rather like the idea of living like Beorn from "The Hobbit". May you and your flora be blessed with unconditional love. Keep up the great writing - we're more than 2/3rds the way through!
31st Jul 2021 1:28pm
