By Alexandra Robinson
For a man so loved his garden that he gave it sun.
In the beginning he turned up the soil and planted only one.
A beautiful blushing rose for him to watch grow.
And when it bloomed it put on a show.
But it was sad and lonely, bending by itself in the wind.
So the gardener planted it a friend, and another, and another.
Soon the garden began filling up with roses standing tall in stunning poses
But the man was not done, in fact he’d only just begun.
It was nothing against the roses, they were gorgeous.
But still he found himself wondering if the garden could be more.
So he went on planting.
Tulips and daisies,
Buttercups and calla lilies,
Daffodils, lilacs, and so many more
Until finally, he was satisfied.
And it was wonderful, until it wasn’t.
To his alarm the garden had begun to lose its charm.
The colours seemed to refuse to intermingle.
No longer could he see flowers in singles,
But in massive blocks of colour side by side hating each other.
Why would they mess with perfection, clearly they didn’t mean to.
Perhaps it was an accident, perhaps he should intervene.
So he put aside his distress and went to cleaning up the mess.
But the next day things were back in disarray.
Tulips with tulips, and daisies with daisies.
The gardener was at a loss.
He found himself troubled by this cultus cause.
No group loved all the other flowers, and maybe they never would.
But he didn’t think they should.
He just wanted them to see the harmony in their different ways.
The compliments in all of them from the sun rays.
But he couldn’t force it, so he left it alone.
Maybe someday they’d see what they own.