Oh, what a mess I made of my garden yesterday,
I got a little feisty on some bubbly, went on a tirade.
The wind ran away from me, unchecked, said some things.
My tongue unleashed unintended torrents and streams.
Proving once again I’m anything but perfect, perfect.
I tore up all the peonies and threw them off the deck.
The beds I’d kept in check for so long, are a wreck.
Now I can’t kick the feeling that I’ve done something wrong.
So instead of stopping I just kept right on,
until anything beautiful, everything blooming was gone.
I Kicked over the roses and took an ax to the pines.
I think I was angry over one too many pricks from their spines.
I tore the poppies from their place,
and of the daisies, I left no trace.
Each blossom found a shallow grave,
The ground was left bleeding, the sky rained down tears.
they mixed and mingled taking back territory while I tore away at the cures.
I painted in the shades of worst fears, their hues deem me unworthy.
casting shadows over the beauty working on me all these years.
Mud raced down my face in streams as I freed roots from their resting place.
The contents of my garden watched me as I came apart at the seams.
Evidence of the tirade strewn all around me as I fell among the broken dreams.
All it took is one bad day and suddenly my garden is tossed,
A salad of colorful peddles all at such a cost,
I’ve meddled, I’ve muddled and lost.
Now, the great defender, the weed master, is the queen of frost.
The creme of the crop twisted, turned to a blender,
sending everything of beauty to oblivion.
Now that the storm is over, the menace, the rage has passed
I’m sitting in the middle of the massacre wondering if there’s a chance…
even the smallest, that I might amend the damage, turn the page and advance…
Suddenly I’m sitting with an inkling in the quiet following the storm that’s left me.
I pick up a wilted daisy from under my knees… a victim of my rampage…
Imagining the contents of a feather pillow released into the wind.
What’s done, is done… What a disaster I’ve become,
The utter destruction surrounding me is nothing new,
Only this time, instead of seeking shelter, it was me who was the twister.
Now, what can I do?
The clouds start to tear apart, the sun peaks through.
Out of the blue amidst the aftermath
I see a single lily staring back
As if to say, Don’t worry,
I’ll rebuild with you.