10-09-2024, 02:12 AM
The Gardener Mulls
The gardener comes; the gardener goes
The season ebbs, and the season flows
The birds will sing the mornings' ring
as light to night everything dulls
while the gardener mulls...
As the gardener mulls
the spacing of his pride
obsessively compelled
compulsively tried
And pretty petunias all in a row
with precise allotments
from which to grow
The gardener mulls
to and fro
from here to there
he comes and goes
The seasons swing
yet the gardener mulls
with trembling hands
he still doth sow
And winters' dawn
cold rain then snow
of dismal days
that once did glow
To days gone by
and beauty nulled
overgrown the weeds
where a gardener
(once) mulled
The gardener comes; the gardener goes
The season ebbs, and the season flows
The birds will sing the mornings' ring
as light to night everything dulls
while the gardener mulls...
As the gardener mulls
the spacing of his pride
obsessively compelled
compulsively tried
And pretty petunias all in a row
with precise allotments
from which to grow
The gardener mulls
to and fro
from here to there
he comes and goes
The seasons swing
yet the gardener mulls
with trembling hands
he still doth sow
And winters' dawn
cold rain then snow
of dismal days
that once did glow
To days gone by
and beauty nulled
overgrown the weeds
where a gardener
(once) mulled
