Losing the powers of my eyes, I turn to planting
These sculptures of life in boxes and jars of love.
Now that my remaining days are more about touching,
My inner sight can reach farther to the silence above.
At five in the morning, when I switch off the lights,
I pass by my little garden and give them some caress …
I see the greens grinning with their flickering whites;
We mutter a short prayer for the many moments we're blest.
Then if I'm still weary, I return to my bed
And lull myself back to sleep with dawn's fragrance in red.
But most times when I feel their soft warming thirst
I get a pail of rainwater and feed their hearts with cooling whispers.
Throughout the waking hours, when I take my break
I watch them from a distance and throw them a smile …
They're much better than most who only wish to take,
Stems and leaves inspiring me to go the extra mile.
I know my body has reached its golden threshold
And the mountains I used to climb have become hills.
So, I seek a certain world my beloved once told
Of a fertile field that heals with butterflies and windmills.
I have placed all of these dreams in a corner where I dwell
Never far but near enough my only son's carousel …
Because love is a tiny forest of stories we must tell,
That patch up our bruises from the thorns where we fell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem