Distant hills burst with color, in a blinding array;
The chasm too great, to clearly hear what they say.
Orchids and tiger lilies sway in sweet mountain breeze,
Vibrantly dancing before the sky and the trees.
I was warned such gardens existed only in foolish mind.
I set out with intentions of returning proof of my find.
I’m drawn closer, wishing to observe the language they speak,
Eavesdropping on floral stories; that they secretly keep.
I came to this place, partly to escape fellow man,
But I spied in the distance a figure with shears in his hand.
He whistled a long forgotten song, pruning while he hovered;
I knew it wouldn’t be long, before I was discovered.
Instead of being scolded for trespass on finely manicured land,
He offered me a rose, from his withered yet friendly old hand.
He invited me to sit on a bench, I swore not previously there
And advised me he had a story; that he wanted to share.
It seems in years prior; he made a trip to this land,
His mind burdened with worry, nearly more than he could stand.
Making a furrow, he placed each care with deliberate purpose,
Burying them deeply, in hopes they would never resurface.
At first the garden quite small, barely a row
But evolved quickly, into a tremendous flowery show.
Each morning he rose, and knelt on one knee.
Saying a short prayer; that his mind remain free.
He asked me to kneel with him, in front of his bench.
The words flowed from his mouth like the song of a finch.
“Lord I pray, you’ll free the mind of my friend
From cumbersome thoughts, and the turmoil within.
You’ve granted me peace, for a right many years.
It is with great joy, I now turn over my shears.
My gardening tools willed into capable hands,
Allowing him opportunity, to cultivate his lands.”
My original intent, to return with proof of my find,
No longer seemed paramount, in my trouble-free mind.
I’m only grateful, to have liberated my hardening heart.
I pray that all will decide; it’s time for the planting to start.
‘Gardens of worry’, we all desperately need to sow,
In order our minds remain free, and flowers continue to grow.