When the dawn came,
And the sun blamed,
He plodded through the hallway lonely
Dragging his weight toward the gate
That opened to his garden slowly.

Jumped in joy,
To find the coy
That patiently awaited his eyes –
Spring had come
And the birds had sung
A song he had wanted to try.

He could not resist
The urge to pick
A flower he had chosen from a bunch,
And took it inside –
A crimson lie
He had plucked merely on a hunch.

And saw it wilt
At the onset of the day,
The summer was due to begin.
He could barely whisper
The song he had learned
‘Neath the shadows of his grin.

“Never again,
I am falling down,
And for the things that don’t stay!
When you are holding them
Dear to your chest,
They would always go away.”

The fall drooped
The trees so low,
The drought fumed the day,
Drew all the water
He had
Stored for his own dismay.

Then fell
The first drop of life,
That brought the herbs alive.
They twirled, unfurled,
To bring to light
The man who was dead inside.

He ran outside
To feel the rain,
To dance amongst the leaves,
While some drops
Escaped his eyes
To shelter his beliefs.

The rain left
A garden to clean,
A mire to come out of.
He had smears and stains
All over his clothes,
A splotch that wouldn’t come off.

He found a weed,
One winter night
That he tried hard to rake.
But like every day
Ushers from the dark,
The weed would always wake.

It was stony and cold,
Biting and bold –
A mirror on display,
And he tried and tried
To wipe it out,
But it would always somehow stay.

Furious and resigned,
Speaking of wrath,
He waited for the Spring,
For the flowers to bloom,
For the trees to dance,
And those forgotten birds to sing.

But nothing could budge,
Dare defeat,
The allure of this wilding.
He looked in awe
At the plant that defied,
The beauty of the Spring.

“Wait till summer!”
And there it was,
Still fighting off the heat.
Even the swamp faltered,
As the rain failed
To uproot it from its feet.

“Oh wild magic!
What art thou?
Why couldn’t I see it through?
You are the dream
I have forever chased,
I have always waited for you.”

“Oh my Liege!
I have chosen your ground,
I am a wildflower from the West,
Watching you suffer,
Listening to your pain,
I have come at your behest.

Life is all seasons,
Cruel or kind,
It is a cycle that will never stop,
If you tend to me,
Like I always would,
You might finally have your crop.”