The Sign Reads

The sign on my garden reads "withering"
As I lay decaying,  
in a long diminished soil that spurns the wind,  
and shuns the sun,
I dream a plants dream.  
 
One where I am flourishing,  
and bare many a fruit.  
Complete with a Gardner that waters my every leaf.  
 
The sweat off his brow sparkles in the high noon,  
as he places me in soil enriched with life and abundance.  
his gardening tools are handsome  
and fixated on tending to my needs.  
They speak to me, listen,  
they get to the root of my issue.  
 
Planting strength and hope that foster growth.  
I can see it now,  
 
I am beeming with a radiance that depicts life in a way that is natural and innate.
During the height of the day,  
this bloom is no bluff.  
I am pregnant with many fruit,  
fruit that nourishes the body,  
a gift to you as sweet as all the joys and secrets of the quiet meadows.  
 
If I may, I will ask YOU.
The reader of this decrepit sign.  
Whoever you are,  
wherever you may be.  
I dont have much time.
Take this brittled "withering" sign,  
before I meet a final dismay.
 
Send my dream via the wind,
carry my worries to a savior,  
ask that they come replace this sign with purpose and promise.  
 
Send me A gardener. One with handsome tools that Enchant me to rejuvenation.