The Brick Garden

By John I. Blair

When it was new and raw
And my bones could bear the work,
I spent many days alone
Building paths of brick
Around our garden,
Forming it and framing it.

I loved to walk their length,
Stepping carefully
Between the planted beds,
Brushing softly
Against the stems and leaves
That verged my route.

Years have passed;
I no longer have the strength
Or will to clear the paths;
The wild has had its way;
All the bricks have merged
Into the garden, overgrown.

But strange to say
Where they lie hid
Beneath the foliage
Is now the thickest
Lushest mass of flowers
As if the garden has decided,

Untamed although it is,
That it’s inclined to stand
Where I once stood,
View what I
Once looked at,
Wonder what I saw.

©2012 John I. Blair