Tending Garden

Like a seed buried deep,

Taken root in rot to steep,

It sits in mud, this dampened earth,

Tilled with blood, tears, forbore a blighted birth,

Trudging the rows - a gardener takes note of the rot,

How it had spread - how it had stunted the crop,

So now with readied shears,

The gardener nears,

The last of their ripened plot,

Where they dug up their harvest,

They made their blade sharpest,

Then they sliced the wither away,

As they went they muttered and brayed,

Cause they felt for their harvest,

To take it so far as,

Stunting the seed to reap out the weeds,

Transplant it in soil not so covered by reeds,

Where light will shine and warm the soil,

Where roots may mend - capillaries uncoiled,

In soft black loam green shoots shall sprout,

To welcome the Sun's first coming out,

By rays of light the stalks sprout petals,

and bear sweet fruit plucked without metals,

For a ripened crop falls when it may,

Tended by gardeners Fey,

With a gentleness tender,

It would make a heart mender,

set their own worries to sleep,

To continue the work that began in the deep,

So that next season's harvest I keep.