The Gardener

Before you or I stir, 

The kettle is on and the tea has been brewed,

Because He, is awake. 


Before you realise it is morning, 

When the sun has just begun to kiss the sky;

Like a warm good morning hug, 

He, is awake. 


Surrounded by his works of art,

Perfection is desired yet chaos is achieved.

Continuous pruning and tending like an unfinished painting, 

With only God’s help, 

Organic beauty is formed.


A whirlpool of colours dance together;

Fuchsia, marigold, lavender and rose. 

Ivy and aloe wash over the walls in a great flood.

Smells of jasmine and eucalyptus fill your nostrils

Strong as Indian incense.

A whisper of bird call

And the humming of bumble bees 

Bounce on your eardrum.


His job is hard, 

Beads of sweat are sown on his neck

And yet, He endures the growing heat.

The green fingered giant at work on his landscape, 

Sculpting a path just for you and me.

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