My Garden Poem by Kurt Philip Behm

I made myself a wastrel
an orphan of my choice

And severed all my family ties
in search of my own voice

I left without once looking back
the present straight ahead

The past redundant, future flawed
to butter my own bread

The years have come with decades gone
old memories buried deep

Of times when I was young and hurt
to dream but not to sleep

New breezes blow, fair winds to call
the children come and go

As here I sit with no regrets
—my garden fully hoed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July,2018)