Gardener’s Song –by Jinny Batterson
(At this height of gardening season, I’m revisiting and revising a lyric I began earlier in my gardening avocation. Enjoy, and please, cultivate your garden, whether physical or metaphorical.)
This garden is overgrown, the weeds are practically choking it.
I sit on this bench alone, and wonder what will become of it.
Yet we started out as gardeners, as tillers of the soil,
And we reaped a joyful harvest to reward our loving toil.
Our cities are overgrown, with crime, and guns, and pollution.
We sit in our gated homes, composing rational solutions.
Yet our city’s full of gardeners, of players in the soil,
And the blooms and greens and herbs reward our ever-loving toil.
This planet is overgrown: wars, strife, disease, aggravation.
We stumble our lone ways home, afraid of coming conflagration.
When my world’s been torn to pieces, when my every dream’s been foiled,
May I start again as gardener, blessed to ever-loving toil.