The Gardener.(Words of Comfort).

God gave to us a garden enriched with fertile soil
To plant our little seedlings in that no one else could spoil.
He left us no instructions; it was up to us to choose,
Which plants that we would put there, which space that we could use.
Some scatter seedlings widely; others go in ordered rows,
Some may choose exotic blooms while others choose the rose.
On each we tender carefully and water every day
Sadly some are neglected and fall into decay.

But gardens are mysterious and we can never know
Which will bloom with radiance, which will never grow.
How a plant that blossomed well, suddenly will fade,
Or a bud that we had overlooked soon will be displayed.
There is no rhyme or reason why a precious plant may die
Plucked before it can mature that leaves us wondering why?
We watered it and fed it, we gave it every care
Pulled up the weeds around it, so why is it not there?

As winged time passes by us our garden will mature
The gardener grows older with each season of the year.
Until there comes a time when the gardener understands
That they must then surrender it into another's hands.
If the garden's tendered well its roots will burrow deep,
Then the gardener passes on to join them in their sleep.
Don't weep then for the keeper, he or she is by your side
As you look upon the garden that is left with loving pride.

Copyright: Lisa Fuller: 2005.