The Garden (Satis Shroff)

THE GARDEN (Satis Shroff)

I saw daffodils in my garden yesterday,

But today they're gone,

Like the pearls of the morning,

Die on green grass.

The garden lives on in literature,

Long after it has been reclaimed

By Nature with its invasion of unkraut,

Wanton growth.

My neighbour, a friendly Brit,

Had a lovely garden outside his cottage.

When he died, so did his garden.

His three daughters Pam, Sue and Sally,

Left their nest.

There was no one to conserve

The lovely flowers.

Gardens have been shared

In diaries, letters, books.

The metaphors, seasonal experiences,

Lyrical descriptions,

Of gardens seen and imagined,

With the power to heal,

And give hope.

The knowledge that the garden

Has its annual cycle:

Flowers bloom, fade and fall,

As we humans do,

To return from where we sprang.

Flowers bring hope and love,

To the eyes of the observer,

To the whole world,

An all-embracing love.

You don't believe in rebirth?

Why, every morning is a rebirth,

Of flowers blossoming,

Only to wilt someday.

Be they wild roses, cherry flowers,

Lilacs, peonies, larkspurs,

Daffodils in the meadows,

They all wilt and die.

And so do we,

In this eternal cycle,

Of life into death.

As long as the sun rises

Every morning,

And living beings greet the dawn,

There is hope.

For the sun brings colours to life,

Gives us health and well being.

It evokes the desire

To greet the day,

To show gratitude,

Whether you're a human,

Animal or a sunflower.

Unkraut: weed

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