We broke the earth with trembling hands,
and planted seeds across the land.
A wild garden, raw and free,
a woven dream of you and me.
I loved it, oh, how much I cared,
each stem, each leaf, each breath we shared.
I studied soil, I watched the skies,
I watered roots with hopes and sighs.
I dreamed of blossoms yet unborn,
of vines in bloom, of golden morn.
You smiled at first and knelt with me,
but not with wonder; critically.
You judged the way I shaped each bed,
you shook your head at what I said.
You doubted where I placed each tree,
as if my heart knew less than thee.
Still, I believed; I gave, I grew,
I turned blind eyes to doubts you threw.
I cradled saplings, sang to rain,
and nursed the smallest sprigs from pain.
My hands were calloused, my breath was thin,
but oh, I longed to see it win.
You watched. You let the days drift past.
Your hands fell still, your care could not last.
You spoke of beauty, yet withdrew
and left the tending all too few.
or none at all, but just for me
And I still tried to hold what used to be.
You took for granted that I'd stay,
and bear the weight you put away.
I carried dreams until they bled,
until the flowers drooped their heads.
Until one morning, silent, gray,
my heart too heavy to obey
I set the watering can aside,
and watched the garden fall and die.
You came when all was choked and bare,
with biting words and cold-eyed stare.
You said I never knew the way,
you said I let it rot away.
But you, you never learned to see
what gardens truly ask to be:
Not mirrors, nor a gilded crown,
but hands that kneel, that will not drown
another soul with pride or spite,
but lift together into light.
The winter claimed the brittle vines,
the empty beds, the broken spines.
And there I stood, with aching hands,
alone amid the withered lands.
Yet somewhere out beyond the frost,
another heart has paid the cost
And someday, someone brave will come,
to tend the roots with steady thumb.
We'll plant again, with open skies,
and teach the garden not to die.
