He love all of his flowers and plants
He tended to them with extravagance
He indulged their beauty with attention
Blooms were glorious and free of tension
The glass of the greenhouse did not reveal
A transparency in his heart that did not heal
His immense capacity for love was spent
On the orchids and lilies with exotic scents
In the garden of tranquility he had no fears
Outside of these panes he ached with tears
Returning to his sanctuary; into nature’s arms
He was at peace and beyond the reach of harm
Everything was tended to at the end of the day
Humid warmth embraced as he put tools away
Newspapers were laid on the freshly swept floor
He lay down amongst the floral friends he adored
The next morning as dawn’s light brought sight
The silent gardener was deaf to a scream of fright
He was found with a single bullet wound to his head
With his final task; he chose not to stain with red
1/25/08
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Not what I exspected great write and deserved top marks Chris