The Garden I've Seen

I don't understand
The garden I've seen;
With pulled up flowers
And its dirt unclean.

Petals scattered like
A sweet smile bloodied;
What desperate hand
Makes living roots bare?

Was tending beauty
The gardener's demise?
Fearing failure's lust
Did make him unwise?

A blind soul could see
The hours he labored;
With blossoming joy
And angels smiling.

I imagine now
What once a true love;
Undone by madness
Of a tear stained face.

This gardener now roams
Down old country roads;
Tiring are his days -
His flowers were home.

I heard his hands yet
Bear the stillborn soil;
Warning to others
Of God's flowers bespoiled.



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