Gardens are never to do with pacing out the beds, seeding carrots into rows
Or mimicking a natural border with the throw of the garden hose.
Gardens are for wandering, watching, waiting and wishing.
And often overflowing, like a birdbath after rain, with wonder.
Who could have put that pansy in the crack in the paving stone?
Beside the matching sweet pea? You know it wasn’t you.
Who told the Monarch butterfly in the sunflower to hold
It’s pose among the oranges, yellows and the dark, dark gold?
You aren’t the indispensable gardener of this place.
Lose control. Let go. Be brave. Embrace.