Legacy Poem by Daleen Enslinstrydom

His body is old
and his hands are wrinkled and full of calluses.
He walks a little bit slower these days
and his eyes are old and tired,
while in his hair he wears the grey
that tells the tale of his years

but still those hands are capable
and will always find something to do.
His garden is his domain
and is his legacy for his descendants.

In the shade against the wall he sits
and I draw comparisons
between him and his watering can,
that is at places rusted through
and the old wheelbarrow
whereof the working days
cannot be counted.

The spade and the fork
as his working companions
has been in his hands for many years.
From his hands tirelessly
the garden has become a showcase

and every flowerbed and vegetable patch
has been nurtured, watered and weeded
and each tree, shrub, flower and seed
came from his hands

and when tired he observes his handiwork
there is gladness in his soul
as he is rewarded by
vegetables and every blooming flower
and sometimes he wipes away a tear
when he is reminded that forever he will be a farmer
and the garden is his legacy.