She is pale in her flower garden. <br />Unlike the colorful earthbound tenants <br />populating the rows and beds. <br />Some uninvited and resisting eviction, <br />as she roughly snatches them like hair <br />from fecund scalp. <br />She is kneeling like a penitent <br />lost to her prayers. <br />Oblivious to the rest of it. <br />I watch her from the window <br />as I wrestle with form. <br />Choosing words over feelings. <br />Weeding desperately in my garden. <br />Trying to see the flowers <br />through the carnivorous weeds. <br />She is better in her work. <br />Drawing pleasure from the honesty and simplicity <br />of noble nurturing effort. <br />While I on the contrary, <br />an insane gardener, murdering <br />the flowers with my reach.<br /><br />George Murdock<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/scions/
