Garden Cemetery

My gardens do not flower; 
               its cold and snow still melts.
I walk that path that brings joy;
               but plants don't look at me.
Old drying markers seen strewn;
               as headstones where they're placed.
Sun and some rain should bring life;
             eventual blossoms.
Some gentle winds for new strength;
               to assist in beauty.
My garden cemetery;
               soon dressed in leafy greens.
Bowing to life and at me;
               while walking passing by.