The Master Gardener

I am a tree,
Quite a young tree
but badly placed in the garden.

On sunny days,
I get little warmth,
and my sap begins to harden.

On frosty days,
I fight for my life,
only my roots keep me ardent.

I am a tree,
Quite a young tree
but badly placed in the garden.

Some of my branches won’t wake up,
And all I can feel is pain,
ice digs deeper into my soul,
as I hold my breath for rain.

The freezing cold and awful silence,
This is my winter of death,
If only I’d been better placed,
I’d have ages of life in me left.

Just as I think I can take no more,
the Master Gardener comes,
With hefty knives he chops and hacks,
and prunes and cuts and strips me back.

And through the darkness,
The time of not knowing,
new sap secretly flows.
It’s spring! There’s hope,
two lovers elope
And I’m their makeshift home.

Leaves, buds, blossoms and fruit,
the warmth of summer brings.
Without Him I’d be torn from my root,
A tree,
quite a young tree,
but badly placed in the garden.