Garden

A women who loved her garden and a garden that depended on her

I was my owner’s prize possession,
Her seeds men tended my every will,
Day after day they pulled my weeds,
And night after night they quenched my thirst.

I bore blooms that rivaled the gardens o Eden,
I had an aroma sweeter then candy,
My flowers crept up,
The white washed walls of the villa,
Mimicking colorful paint,
Dripping down a new black canvas.

But now all my colors have faded to brown,
My only quench comes from the rain,
And the once rich soil that sprung my fruit,
Is now unfertile and infested with weeds.

My owner has long passed away,
With her all my hopes of survival,
And now spring is meaningless to me,
When I used to crave her arrival.